


Life's a Beach

by Lusciousinpain



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Barebacking, Bottom Dean, Childhood Trauma, Fluff and Angst, Frottage, Happy Ending, Insecure Castiel, Insecure Dean, Kidnapping, Lifeguard Dean, Light Power Play, M/M, Minor Character Death, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Ocean Rescue Chief Castiel, Older Castiel, PTSD, PWP, Rimming, Sex on the Beach, Slow Burn, Top Castiel, Torture, Younger Dean, gabriel is great
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-17
Updated: 2017-09-06
Packaged: 2018-11-14 23:33:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 94,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11218557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lusciousinpain/pseuds/Lusciousinpain
Summary: Dean watches her walk away, presses his back flat against the wall and tries his best to keep his brother from getting wetter, and himself, from chasing after her. He wants to be brave, he will be brave, but he can't help but grow more and more fearful as he watches her unsteady progression, heart seizing in terror with the unevenness of her footfalls, with the way she's forced to zig-zag in order to stay upright, and the way her unsteady gait, mirrors the boat's treacherous pitching.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a long while since I posted anything, though I've never stopped writing. It's a painfully slow process for me, and the editing...torture. But I hope you enjoy this, and let me know what you think. It means a lot.

**Ten years ago:**

It's not the boat’s violent lurching or erratic rocking that wakes Dean, it's his mother’s urgent screams. 

“John, the boys!” She yells, high pitched, and terrified. 

Dean bolts upright, and instinctively looks down at his baby brother. “S’okay Sammy, I’ll go see-“ he starts, words cut off when he's forcibly plucked from their shared crib, and pressed hard against his father’s shoulder. 

"Mary, get Sam!” John orders. 

But she's way ahead of him, and before he's managed to tuck a squirming Dean against his chest, she has Sam’s tiny body, cradled tightly against her bosom. 

They move cautiously towards the cabin’s steps, slosh through a foot of flood water, only to find that it's so much worse on deck. 

"Wha-what are we going to do?” Mary stammers, pelted by rain falliing at a sharp angle. She huddles closer to her husband’s side and tries, for the sake of her sons, to get her panic under control. Their safety is her top priority, and with their welfare at the forefront of her mind, she bravely reins in her fear.

“Get over to the bow and grab the life vests!" John yells over the deafening wind. "Here, take Dean!” 

But it's no use, it's impossible to hear over the storm’s roar. But nevertheless, Mary understands her husband’s intent, and reachers for Dean, tightens her hold on her wailing infant, and bends her head low, to block him from the downpour. 

“I'm going to try the radio again.” He shouts.

"'-Kay,” she nods and reluctantly leaves his side. She turns towards the stairs, makes her way to the upper deck, and clumsily weaves her way towards the head of their boat. The distance is short, a few yards at the most, but it's a tremendous struggle with the treacherous pitching and yawing, not to mention the added weight of two terrified, clinging, children. “Shhh…” She shushes, voice breaking as she staggers unsteadily towards her destination. 

“Damn it!” She curses; she just remembered she relocated all of their gear earlier, while they were cleaning. The vests are at the stern of the boat, not the bow, and hopefully, still under the bench. She prays they haven't washed away, she forgot to tie them down. 

“It's okay sweetie, shhh, mommy’s got you.” She mouths reassuringly against her four year old’s temple, but her dread mounts with the storm’s building intensity. And to make matters worse, if the height and crashing of the waves is anything to go by, the boat’s stern looks to be taking the brunt of the storm. There's no way she can risk retrieving the vests and still hope to keep her boys safe. 

But Mary’s one tough lady. There's no way in hell she's going to let some measly storm get the better of her, let alone hurt her babies. So she grits her teeth and carefully bends down; she has no choice in what she does next. 

“Dean,” she says, lips pressed to her son’s ear, back against the storm. She's crouched low and doesn't let go of her eldest son until he's standing on his own two feet, and braced safely against the cabin’s exterior wall, “sweetie, I need you to stay here with your brother, okay.” 

Dean’s small head tips up to look at his mother, eyes glassy and wide with horror, bottom lip caught between his teeth, tiny chest noticeably heaving. “Mommy?” He whimpers, chocking back his tears, he wants to be a brave for her. “Wha-wha…” He hiccups. 

“Dean,” Mary says, bracing one hand on his shoulder while easing a still crying Sam into Dean’s open arms, her son’s pout shattering her heart. “Mommy needs you to be brave, okay? I need you to stay here, okay? Don't move, honey. And hold onto your brother. Keep him safe, okay, baby?” 

Dean closes his arms around the flailing infant, wrapping his brother in an impressively powerful grip and nods, short and sharp. “Oh-okay.” He promises and tightens his hold. Face grim, lips thin, he says, “I'll take care of Sammy.” Then actually manages to quiet the baby’s cries by cupping the back of Sam’s tiny head, with his small hand.

Mary beams, she's never been more proud of Dean, her boy is so strong. “I know you will.” She tells him and leans even lower, closing the scant space between them to pepper both of her boys’ faces with kisses. “I'll be right back.” 

Dean watches her walk away, presses his back flat against the wall and tries his best to keep his brother from getting wetter, and himself, from chasing after her. He wants to be brave, he will be brave, but he can't help but grow more and more fearful as he watches her unsteady progression, heart seizing in terror with the unevenness of her footfalls, with the way she's forced to zig-zag in order to stay upright, and the way her unsteady gait, mirrors the boat's treacherous pitching. 

But her weaving only worsens the further back she goes, and Dean’s fear multiples. 

Then Mary falls to her knees and Dean screams. He clutches Sammy tighter and gets ready to run to her aid. But before he’s taken a single step towards her, she turns to look at him and smiles. She yells something back to him, but he can't make it out. He guesses it must be good, because along with her smile, she waves their life vests triumphantly in one arm, while giving him an enthusiastic ‘thumbs-up’, with the other.

He smiles back and yells, “Mommy-“ while relief floods his small body, and allows himself to slump back against the wall: mommy is safe, they're going to be okay, and most importantly, he was a good boy for her, brave and strong, just like daddy. And he kept Sammy safe too, just like he promised. And when she gets back, she'll kiss him and tell him how proud he made her and how much she loves him. 

But then the storm delivers its heaviest blow, and the boat lurches violently, knocking them all off their feet.

And then the unthinkable happens.

In the blink of an eye his mother vanishes and Dean screams.

“Mommy!” 

…

**Present day:**

Dean jerks upright and cries out. 

It's just a nightmare, one he hasn't had in years. but it was vivid enough to startle him awake. His chest tightens when he recalls snippets of the dream: the tattered glimpses of his mother, the ache in his heart, it's overwhelming and Dean has to struggle to stifle his ragged breathing . 

But once his breathing is under control, he lays back down and rubs at his eyes; they feel dry and gritty. He stretches his arms over his head and yawns, jaw cracking loudly from the effort. “Mmmm…” he hums, feeling marginally better now that the nightmare’s lingering effects have started to fade. Dean’s grateful he's never been able to fully recall the entirety of this dream, he's not sure he could handle knowing all the reasons behind those terrors..

“Time is it?” He wonders and reaches for his cell phone. 

_3 am_

"What the fuck?"

He can’t believe it's only been a few minutes since he crawled into bed, feels like he's been laying there for hours. 

He got in at 2:30am. He didn't mean to get home so late, but when Ellen offered him an extra shift at the bar, Dean gladly took it; he's in dire need of the extra money. 

He toed his boots off at the front door and crept in on socked feet. He needed to be quiet, the last thing he wanted was to wake his brother or uncle, let alone listen to them both bitch about how hard he works or how he doesn't take care of himself. He’s doing it for them, after all. And no amount of whining from Sam or bitching from Bobby, is going to alter his game plan or deter him from seeking out any opportunity that will help better their lives.

He fell into bed so exhausted he didn’t even bother to undress, he just wanted to sleep. But no matter how many sheep he counted or how many sexual fantasies he tried to steer his buzzing mind towards, he just couldn't fall asleep.

"Damn it." He sighs, willing his mind to shut off, exhausted and bone deep weary, but still wide awake. Dean would laugh, if it wasn't so tragic; he hoped that once he got home – body beat to shit and running on fumes – that he’d be asleep before his head hit the pillow.

So why can't he fall asleep? He needs to sleep, has to sleep, if he doesn’t get some damn shut-eye, like now, he's likely to screw up at tomorrow’s tryouts. 

Dean's no fool, he knows damn well that if he hopes to pass, what's sure to be some seriously rigorous drills, then he needs to at least get four hours of sleep. 

But he's so wound up with thoughts of his upcoming performance and how important it is that he do well (regardless of the number of times that creepy guy at the bar assured him he’d get recruited, no matter what) that his mind refuses to shut down. To lay quiet. To be still. 

Dean groans, he feels kinda guilty referring to bar guy as ‘creepy’, he was only trying to be helpful, or so he claimed. But damn, the ‘creepy’ factor was seriously high on that dude, it practically radiated off of him. “The fuck was his name again?”

_Alistair_

“Fuck, even his name is creepy.” Dean shudders when he recalls how violated (not an exaggeration) he felt after Alistair ran his hand up and down his bare arm. The older man’s touch blatantly suggestive and disturbingly possessive. But the more revulsion Dean feels towards that man, the heavier his guilt weighs on him. Because like it or not, he owes Alistair his life. Like, literally. But even more importantly, Sammy’s life too. So yeah, Dean owes him big time. 

Dean was shocked when Alistair recognized him. He'd already seen the guy several times at the bar. They'd even exchanged a few words. Pleasantries, mostly, although Dean did have to dodge the older man’s sexual advances more than a few times; he thought the old guy was just lonely, and harmless, so no biggie. 

But when Alistair brought up their connection and then went on to describe (in great detail) the events of their first meeting, Dean was flabbergasted, terribly grateful, and thoroughly humbled. That Alistair was able to connect the terrified four year old boy Dean was (all those years ago when Alistair rescued him) to his now, twenty-three old self, was fucking impressive. 

But despite Dean’s real desire to shower the guy with his very deep appreciation (seriously, if it were anybody else, Dean would have gladly done anything they asked) he just couldn't bring himself to do it. If only Alistair had laid off with the smarmy come-ons and the sweaty grabby hands, then maybe. 

“Bleh! Nope, not even then.” 

Dean supposes tonight’s revelations are the reasons behind his nightmare’s resurgence. But he won't allow himself to dwell on that any longer, he needs to keep his head on straight and his mind clear for what's about to happen later. So he closes his eyes and takes a deep calming breath, focusing his energy on falling back to sleep before any more unpleasant memories have a chance to reappear. 

“Although, on second thought…” It suddenly occurs to him that since he’s already fully awake, then he should just get up and get going, head right to the beach and take advantage of an early start.

“Hm, not my worst idea." But getting to the training site before sunrise is a bit much, even for him. So he grabs his pillow, shifts into a more comfortable position, and concentrates on relaxing, hoping sleep will eventually claim him. But after tossing and turning for another half hour – surely it’s been that long since he last checked the time – he resigns himself to the sad fact that sleep (at least for tonight) is out of the question, and checks the time again. 

_3:10am!_

"Motherfuck, damn it!" 

…

It’s just nerves, Dean figures. It’s why he's been so tense lately, why it feels like he’s swallowed shards of glass. He climbs out of his car and inhales. “God, I’m gonna be sick.” Then bends over and hangs his head between his legs.

He takes several deep breaths to calm his nerves. Then, once his stomach has settled and his head has cleared, straightens and makes his way to his usual spot under the boardwalk.

He immediately feels better, sure he's still nauseated – stomach roiling as if a rave were raging in his gut – but at least he's on the move. Plus he loves it here, wishes he could spend more time enjoying the sun, the surf and the sand. Heck, if Dean had his way, he’d live on the beach, get himself a little bungalow by the shore. Or better yet, finally scrape together enough cash for a used boat. Then he could fall asleep to soothing rocking, the sound of the ocean all around him, it would feel like sleeping in his mother’s embrace.

He shakes his head. He can't afford to succumb to his depression, right now. Can't allow himself to wallow in nostalgia. He needs to remain focused. And, if he’s lucky, and does really well, then he’ll be able to spend all the time he wants by the water. That's what the tryouts are all about, after all. Dean shivers at the possibility, and breaks out in goosebumps. He knows the raised flesh has nothing to do with the chilly weather.

He takes the stairs from the boardwalk to the beach, two at a time, makes a sharp turn, and heads underneath the pier, right towards the rear. His favorite spot is closer to the back and blissfully secluded. He lays his towel out and plops down, hissing when his ass hits the cold sand and cursing at himself for not bringing his sleeping bag. He scoots and wiggles, stopping when his back hits a large, weathered, wooden beam, and sets about getting comfortable – or as comfortable as he can considering how damn cold it is. He zips his thin jacket to his neck, draws his knees to his chest, and wraps his arms around his legs, all the while his teeth chatter nonstop from the frigid temperature.

"Th…the…the…heh…heh…hell was I th...think…thinking?" He stutters, the cold air stealing his breath.

It’s while he’s shivering and chattering away (the cold pre-dawn air seeping into his bones) that Dean hears the unmistakable sound of feet slapping at a steady rhythm.

_A jogger. At this time?_

Dean rolls his eyes. “Seriously? Get a life dude.” An interruption was the last thing Dean expected, or wants. So hoping to go undetected, Dean forces his jaw to keep still, and his ears, to perk up.

 _Please don't stop, please don't stop._ It's a wish, a prayer, a silent chant willing the runner to bypass his spot; this little piece of heaven he's claimed for himself.

“Jesus,” he further grouses, huffing dramatically from the intrusion. He’s irritated, and rightly so. The beach is his haven, as well as the reason he's here so damn early. If there's anywhere on the planet Dean feels most at peace, is near the water: the sound of the crashing waves, the sharp salt-tang in the air, it's home to him. Even after…everything, this is where Dean prefers to be. 

It's why he's been so nutty lately. As soon as he heard a few lifeguard positions were available in his beloved Santa Monica, he applied. But it really wasn't until he received a letter informing him that he'd been accepted to tryout, that he’s been on edge. Or as Sam so aptly put it, 'downright pissy'.

But Sam doesn’t harass Dean too much about it, not really; he knows how important being by the ocean is to his brother. Being a member of ‘Ocean Rescue’ has been Dean’s dream since, well, since their mother drowned. But it's almost impossible to get a post in that squad. So Dean’s trying out for a lifeguard’s position, instead, and freaking out over it. 

It means everything to him, being out there, ready to help people. Save them the way he was unable to save his mother. 

It's why he needs to do well (no, he needs to do fucking great) this morning. Too much is at stake. His future, Sammy's future, a chance to pay Bobby back. A steady, full time job with awesome benefits. A chance at a better goddamn life for all of them. And if in the process he's able to keep the promise he made himself when his mom died – that nobody else would ever die in the ocean under his watch – then it would just be an added perk. So come tomorrow (actually, dawn at this point) it's kick-ass, or get the fuck out.

Dean squeezes his eyes shut and once again, drops his head between his knees. He's wiped-out, dreading the morning, but eager at the same time for it to be over, and so lost in his thoughts that he doesn't notice when the jogger's course changes, or how his rhythm stutters as he turns, and runs down the stairs. But when Dean cranes his neck to catch a glimpse of this annoying distraction, he notices (and can’t help but appreciate) the long limbed athlete that quickly sweeps past his hideout.

The runner is stunning, all firm muscle, toned, thick-thighs, and broad shouldered. Every inch of him, a masterpiece.

“Whoa-“ he croaks, tongue darting out to moisten suddenly dry lips. He climbs to his feet, crawls out from his hiding spot and silently inches closer, eyes bugging out comically when the runner stops at the water's edge, strips down to his briefs, and dives, head-first, into the ocean.

Dean had originally intended to spend these pre-dawn hours alone. To use this time to gather his thoughts and steel himself for the morning’s upcoming trials. But now, slack-jawed and dumbstruck, hand dropping down to palm at the growing bulge in his shorts, he can’t help but ogle at the erotic sight that just unfolded before him. 

Suddenly, the tryouts don't seem so daunting.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He's running at break neck speed now, not slackening until he reaches the water's edge. The ocean. His salvation. He immediately strips out of his wind breaker, peels off his sodden t-shirt, chucks his running shoes and shorts, and dives right in. It's heaven.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for typos, grammar errors, overall fck ups. Point them out, I'll fix 'em up. Maybe.

The rhythmic pounding eases the tension from Castiel's body. The steady tempo soothes his throbbing head. The repetitive thud, thud, thud, like a balm to his frayed nerves. And with each consecutive thump and every successive foot fall - thighs pumping so fast, it sets his muscles on fire - Castiel slips one step closer to his blessed, Nirvana.

This - running at the ass-crack of dawn, moon fat and full in the early morning sky, air crisp and cool, feet slapping incessantly against the well-worn planks of the Santa Monica pier - is exactly what he needed. It's the only thing guaranteed to subdue his raging thoughts, curb his ill temper, and help him to forget (at least for a little while) his many frustrations. Especially those from the previous evening.

_Fucking Alistair!_

So he runs, on autopilot, not sure if it's from his anger, his guilt, or from the horrific memories that continue to plague him. Or perhaps it's towards an unattainable peace, although that's highly unlikely; he's never really had any luck finding it before. 

But he doesn't give up, he's certain that running (nonstop, hard, until his lungs burn and his mind is a blank slate) is the key, the remedy to all of his problems. Because he knows, from past experience, that by the time he reaches that elusive 'runner's high', he will be well on his way to feeling, if not great, then at least human again.

_Fucking Alistair._

The unwanted reminder invades his mind and chases away his serenity. He falters, but quickly regains his footing, grits his teeth and pushes on. Pace quickening, he practically flies down the pier’s steps. He pants from the added stress, harsh shallow breaths; it’s torture, a punishment, the price he has to pay for failing those who needed him the most.

Especially Michael. 

He's running at break neck speed now, not slackening until he reaches the water's edge. The ocean. His salvation. He immediately strips out of his wind breaker, peels off his sodden t-shirt, chucks his running shoes and shorts, and dives right in. It's heaven. 

After a few minutes – two, three at the most – his head breaks through the water’s surface. He gasps and sputters, takes a deep lungful of air, then laughs. This is what he needed; the adrenaline of submerging his sweat-tacky body in the cold ocean water, and the rush of exposing his wet skin to the brisk morning air. He spins in place until he's facing the shore, then laughs again. "Not too shabby." He muses, impressed with the hundred or so yards he’s managed to cover.

He allows himself a few more minutes in the water, does a few laps, dives deep and low, submerged until his lungs protest, until the pressure to his head becomes too much, then swims back to shore.

Back on the beach, still wet and dressed only in his swim trunks, Castiel heads straight for his secret stash of towels. He pulls out a large blanket-size one, spreads it out and plops down. He doesn't bother drying off, he prefers to 'air-dry', to feel his skin breakout in goosebumps as the water evaporates. He leans back on his elbows and takes in the view, humming while he marvels at the scenery. He'll never get tired of this, at the majesty, the vastness of it all, and lets himself indulge in the peace and quiet of the moment.

He's lounging, just a few feet from the Lifeguard's tower, his brother Gabriel’s tower, as a matter of fact, and scans the area. He tips his head back, closes his eyes, sprawls his legs out, and exhales a heavy whoosh of air, relieved he's still the only person around. He basks in the tranquility, in the utter solitude, the harmony and calm. He congratulates himself for beating the crowd, he only had to sacrifice a few hours of sleep, but it was well worth it. 

He lays there, loving every moment: body lax, mind unfettered, his breathing slowing, limbs relaxed, getting sleepy, when he’s unceremoniously brought back to the present by a very loud, very obnoxious slurp.

“Ooops, sorry.” It’s Gabriel. “Didn’t mean to interrupt one of your precious ‘Zen’ moments." He air quotes.

Castiel turns at the sound of his brother’s voice and groans. "Gabe, why are you here?"

"D'uh, work here." _Slurp._

Castiel throws Gabriel a glare over his shoulder and snaps, "Gabe, don't be obtuse. You know perfectly well what I mean."

"Geesh, sorry," Gabriel replies, chastised, hands shooting up in surrender, "fine, you got me. I just figured, that ah...this is where...I mean, this is the spot you usually come to after, you know..." He’s stammering, words tripping over each other as he searches (but fails) to come up with a legitimate reason for being there. 

So he goes with the truth – why the heck not, right? 

And besides, it's not like he really needs an excuse to hang out with his younger brother, even at four in the morning. And its not like they aren't aware of the reasons that have brought Castiel here, in the first place. They both know why Castiel goes to the beach hours before dawn, exerts himself until he's drenched and drained; it’s how he copes with his anger, and where he goes when he needs to burn off excess aggression.

It's either that, or he's liable to kill someone. 

"Um, anyways,” Gabriel sighs, at a loss again when the moment turns uncomfortably serious. He stares down at his feet, digs his bare toes into the sand and absently wonders when the hell he became so sheepish. 

“I ah, brought you some breakfast." he offers weakly, not ready to comfort the elephant in the room, then holds out his twenty ounce, strawberry, ICEE cup, for Castiel’s inspection. “Want some?" 

Castiel snorts. He knows what Gabriel is trying to do, and he appreciates it. He really does. But unfortunately, it's going to take a lot more than indulging in an obscenely large, sugary, convenient store, drink to help him forget his mounting resentment (hatred), towards Alistair – not to mention his nightmares. But he refuses to focus on his own traumas.

Last night wasn't about him.

Castiel recalls the look of shame, fear, and horror, on their newest recruit's face when he confronted him about Alistair, and wants to scream. That Alistair had the audacity to claim that the abuse was mutual, is laughable. But without physical proof of Alistair's misconduct and his victim’s quiet denial, Castiel can't touch him.

Castiel takes a deep breath and counts to ten; it helps rein in his emotions. He doesn't want to take this out on his well-meaning brother. But after a short pause, and with his temper mostly under control, he replies, "That's breakfast?" He shakes his head in the negative, then rakes long fingers through his hair to stop the water from dripping down his face. 

"Hey, don't knock it." Gabriel argues. _Slurp._ "It's the breakfast of champions!"

Castiel chuckles at that. "Well, that may be.” He concedes, “But if that’s the case, then I prefer blueberry."

"Heathen!” Gabriel gasps, aghast. “Strawberry is the only choice for civilized society." _Slurp._

This time, they both laugh.

Gabriel sags in relief, pulls out a beach chair, and sets it beside Castiel’s towel. They spend several minutes sharing small talk, swapping gossip, amusing tidbits about their co-workers, when Gabriel suddenly snaps his fingers and asks, “Hey, who’s helping you today with the new trainees?”

Castiel groans again, then flops flat on his back, arms and legs spread out wide. He grunts in frustration. But it’s not because he dreads the training process. On the contrary, Castiel loves grooming today’s hopeful candidates, become tomorrow’s fearless lifeguards. And being Chief of the Santa Monica's Ocean Rescue Squad, means he's the most qualified person for that job, other than his boss, Master-Chief Crowley. “I was really hoping to…relax a little bit longer before they start showing up.”

But there's more to it than that. What Castiel was hoping to achieve this morning, before this season’s fresh crop of recruits arrived, was to reach a state-of-mind (the one he'd strived to attain with this morning’s rigorous workout) that would be more conducive to their success. He needs to ensure his biases are set aside and that his anger towards Alistair, their future boss, doesn't interfere in their training.

"Argh-" he growls, grimacing when he recalls the abuse and advantage Alistair freely takes against those young people. If only Luke would fire him. But Castiel knows that's never going to happen. They owe Alistair too much. 

Castiel drops his head in his hands and whines, he feels so impotent, he's mad with rage over it. But what can he do? 

Gabriel sees – can practically feel – Castiel's distress, so he reaches out and lays a comforting hand on his brother’s shoulder. "Come on, Cassie, don't beat yourself up." But his words only end up highlighting how very awful Castiel truly feels. 

“You...it wasn't your fault, okay! That dick, he didn't get away with it, well mostly didn't get away with it. Don't worry, we'll make sure he doesn't try anything funny this time. Besides, if you ask me, those kids you helped were-"

“Were what?” Castiel challenges, tone sharper than he intended.

Gabriel drops his eyes and takes another long pull from his drink, he's stalling, searching for the right words. “I don't know. I mean, would it have killed any of those kids you stuck your neck out for to at least send you a ‘thank you’ note?” 

_Yeah, that would have been nice._

Castiel agrees with his brother, though he will never admit it. He would like to believe that the young men he's helped escape Alistair’s grasp, are doing well. But he wouldn't know, since none have ever contacted him. 

“It's...fine.” He answers, noting how false the words ring in his own ears. Then, resigned to the fact that he might as well get started with that morning's preparations, stands up. “They're fine.” He mutters. “That’s all that matters."

Gabriel sighs, nods, asks, "So, who's joining you, then?" _Slurp_

Castiel gives Gabriel a pointed stare, then nods in his direction. 

Gabriel shrugs in apology. "Me? No can do, bro. My day off. Besides,” he claims, “m'tired." Then yawns. "Just dropped Kali off at work. Only came by to say hi." 

Castiel snorts, he really shouldn't have expected more. "Figures." 

"Aww, don't pout, it is my day off!"

"I'm not pouting," Castiel pouts, "It's just...never mind. I've got it." He then wrestles with this station's small lifeboat and drags it closer to the water's edge.

Gabriel strides leisurely behind, but stops right by a large storage container where the life-vests are kept. He waits for Castiel to walk back towards him, then asks, "Why don't you just ask that hot-piece-of-ass standing over there, for a hand?"

"Wha-" Castiel grunts, not bothering to look.

"The kid by the stairs.” Gabriel points, waggling his brows. “He hasn't stopped ogling you since I got here. I'm sure he won't mind giving you a...hand" 

Castiel frowns, if Gabriel isn't going to help, then he should either leave, or at least stop being such a nuisance. “Gabriel,” he starts, turning to where Gabriel is pointing, hand coming up to block the first rays of the rising sun. And then Castiel spots him, and he gulps, “Oh...." he says softly, dazzled by the play of light dancing lovingly all over the young man’s impressive physique. "Ah...maybe I will."


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel nods. _Dean._ There it is again, that sense that he's forgotten something important. But again, Castiel ignores it, he needs for this stranger, for Dean, to leave. Castiel has work to do, and this boy is too distracting, too…tempting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These few first chapters are all set mainly in the same time frame. Just different points of view. I hope they dont come off as repetitive, but I promise, they will all eventually, tie in together.

Amber eyes sparkle with mischief when they land on the lone figure standing just a few yards away.

It's a tall man, and from what Gabriel can see, which isn't much, thanks to his lousy vantage point and the fact that the guy's body is heavily bathed in shadows, nicely built.

“Well, well, well, what have we here?”

Gabriel spotted the suspicious looking stranger the moment he stepped onto the boardwalk. Probably a beach bum, he had assumed, frowning and instantly on alert when the guy crawled out from under the pier, and made his way straight towards Castiel. But when the stranger paused midway – body tensing then pivoting in Gabriel's general direction – Gabriel quickly changed his mind.

Now, visibly clear thanks to the brightness of the overhead street lamp, the man Gabriel initially thought to be a vagrant, is nothing more than a teen, and far from homeless; he's clean cut and dressed in gym clothes, feet clad in a good pair of sneakers.

Nope, definitely not a bum. But definitely cute, and more importantly, totally Castiel’s type.

“But is Cassie your type?" Gabriel wonders. But he doesn't have to wonder for long; the love struck expression the teen aims right at Castiel, is all the confirmation Gabriel needs to move forward with his plan. "Hm, very nice. Seems like Cassie’s got himself an admirer.” Or another one, to be more precise.

It's nothing new, really, the 'idol-worshiping' Castiel unintentionally inspires in others, it’s par for the course in their field. But in Castiel's case, it's an outright obsession. Gabriel snorts, bemused; they're all so damn predictable. This kid should just get in line with the rest of Castiel’s fan-club, and be done with it. Seriously, though, at the rate these crushes are accumulating, Castiel can soon claim the whole beach going population of Santa Monica, as his own private ministry.

"Man, the power Cassie could wield if he just...took it." Gabriel whispers, words trailing off into a long, low, whistle, mind running wild with a stream of lewd images; the possibilities, endless. But then he shrugs and tsks, disappointed. "What a waste.” He knows someone as ridiculously noble as Castiel would never abuse their power.

The oblivious dummy.

“But then again…maybe for this one he will.” Gabriel absently taps his chin with the tip of his finger, eyes narrowing as they follow the stranger’s retreat. 

There’s something different about this kid, Gabriel’s not sure what it is, but it’s definitely there. And it’s not just his pretty face or hot body – the guy definitely won the genetics lottery on that score – not that Castiel would even care, he's above all that superficial bullshit. Gabriel shakes his head at the thought. “Idiot.”

Yes, Castiel’s appetites are loftier, spiritual, of the heart and mind, rather than flesh and muscle. He’s attracted to a person’s ‘soul’, rather than their looks. A wounded human in need of salvation, rather than an entitled asshat thinking Castiel is his for the taking.

Or some such nonsense.

Well, this guy certainly seems to fit the bill, if the defeated slope of his shoulders, slow drag in his steps, and the resigned air weighing him down, is anything to go by.

Okay, so maybe Gabriel can’t swear that the stranger currently creeping in the dark, also possesses a 'beautiful' soul. Or, that as soon as he and Castiel meet, a deep and profound bond will miraculously develop between the two. Nope, Gabriel won’t know the answer to any of those questions until Castiel and Mr. Mysterious actually meet. But the one thing Gabriel can guarantee – at least from what he’s seen so far – is that this dude isn’t one of those arrogant douches that constantly pester, clamor, and insist on Castiel’s affection. On the contrary, the vibes this kid is giving off are pure 'unworthiness', like he's already concluded he doesn't deserve Castiel's notice. That, or he's just super insecure. Poor dope. 

“Oh yeah, he’s perfect.”

...

A while back, on a rare night out with Castiel, Gabriel (pleasantly tipsy at the time) listened intently as his drunken brother garbled on and on about his lack-luster love-life, and the reasons he preferred to keep it that way. Gabriel was gob smacked, mouth falling open from what he learned; the secrets Castiel divulged, his painful confessions, his guilt and numerous regrets, were highly unwarranted and Gabriel immediately set out to argue against them.

But before he could dispute Castiel’s claims, reject his brother’s perceived failures or contradict his misconceptions, Castiel shocked Gabriel, yet again, by revealing the real reason he and his girlfriend, Meg, broke up. It also helped to explain Castiel’s mysterious estrangement from their older brother, and Santa Monica’s Mayor, Luke. 

She was unfaithful and Luke was the culprit.

The truth of her deception hurt Castiel, but it was nothing compared to the crushing blow he felt when he learned that it was with his brother, Luke, that she had cheated. Meg’s actions weren't a surprise to Castiel, not really, but he'd expected more loyalty from a sibling. Especially when they had already lost so much. 

“That whore!” Thundered Gabriel, royally pissed-off at Meg, but disappointed with their brother, as well. 

Gabriel had always wondered why Castiel willingly chose to date that she-devil. Sure she was hot, but damn, talk about a ball-buster, not to mention the class-A, cheating-tramp, she turned out to be. He expected as much from her, but what Luke did…no wonder Castiel has refused to see him these past several months. 

Castiel further confided that he is ready to settle down, but has no idea where to go, find, or pursue, let alone attract, that elusive, longed for, loving companion. 

_Really?_ Gabriel couldn't believe his ears. Does Castiel even look in the mirror? Or ever take notice of the girls, and guys, tons of guys, that line up on a daily basis, eager for his attention, waiting for him to take notice? 

_My poor brother is even more oblivious than I thought._

Gabriel tsks, he wrongly assumed Meg was the reason Castiel had dodged everybody else's advances. But the truth didn't really surprise Gabriel; Castiel was always awkward around new people, as well as painfully inept at making new friends. 

These depressing revelations shone a harsh light on Castiel’s loneliness and it pissed Gabriel off. But as awful as Castiel’s predicament seemed to be, it got worse. So much worse. 

Gabriel balked, blanched, sputtered obscenities, loudly, colorfully, and with great vehemence upon learning that his baby brother (twenty long years later) still blamed himself for their oldest brother’s death, as well as the tragic downward spiral of those few recruits that slipped through his grasp, only to land in Alistair’s clutches. 

Castiel’s well guarded wretchedness all made sense now; the stony façade, the strained politeness, the stilted manner, all due to the guilt he’s been carrying for things that were beyond his control. 

Gabriel has always prided himself on being a keen judge of character. Always boasting how he could spot a hypocrite from a mile away, see right through the masks people wear on a day to day basis, and the false façade they present to the world. It's his super power. But apparently, not with Castiel; yeah, he dropped the ball on that one, big time. 

But he's learned his lesson. And ever since the revelations from that fateful night, Gabriel has vowed to be a better brother, to be more sensitive to Castiel’s feelings and more alert to his moods. He will no longer accept anything Castiel says or does at face value, choosing instead to dig through the many layers of his brother’s neurosis, to get to the absolute truth. 

Gabriel won’t rest until the small, forced, smiles, Castiel occasionally grants, are once again the genuine, wide, gummy grins, from his earlier youth.

...

With his hands braced on the boardwalk’s wooden rail, Gabriel studies the stranger with a keen eye. He likes what he sees, and the longer he stares, the more he’s convinced this kid has exactly what Castiel needs. “Oh yes, you’ll do very nicely.”

The kid’ll be the perfect distraction, a broody, pretty, young thing that will most likely fawn embarrassingly over his brother, and demand nothing in return. It's exactly what Castiel needs. And from the looks of this guy (and he is quite a looker) also the perfect antidote to Alistair and the sour mood Castiel always gets in, whenever he has to deal with that asshole and his bullshit. Gabriel just needs to make sure that Meg doesn’t scare this kid off before he and Castiel get a chance to ‘bond’. That will be his biggest challenge. 

So with his decision firmly made, and careful not to alert Castiel, Gabriel waves for the guy to come closer. But it’s easier said than done, the kid appears mesmerized, eyes glued solely on Castiel. “Guess I’ll just have to get your attention the old fashioned way." So he zips his jacket up to the neck, hands stuffed in his pockets for warmth, and trudges over to Castiel.

 

…

Castiel lays on his back, arms and legs sprawled out, his plush terry towel easily absorbing the ocean from his skin. He sighs, relief making his limbs heavy and his heart lighter; he’s finally able to let go of the day’s earlier frustrations. “Think I’ll take a nap…” he murmurs, the words flowing out if him on a long, cleansing exhale,

He’s relaxed, going under, body attuned to the push and pull of the tide, mind at ease, only the sound of the crashing waves resonate while his mind blissfully blanks. His breathing slows, his eyes close, and he begins to drift. _Just a few minutes,_ he thinks, _I'll only rest my eyes for a little while,_ he promises, _I'll get started in a minute,_ all the while unaware of Dean’s soulful stares or Gabriel’s plotting.

He's almost asleep, body succumbing to fatigue, boneless, weightless, feels like he’s flying...

_Slurp!_

...

 

Rejection sucks.

Dean’s glad he stopped himself from going over to ‘hot-jogger-dude’. Especially after witnessing the easy way in which ‘hot guy’ and his boyfriend interact, the effortless banter between the two, the obvious intimacy, Dean can practically taste the dude’s rejection on his tongue.

Yup, with the way ‘hot-guy’ and his boyfriend are joking around, Dean’s relieved he was too chicken-shit to approach him, in the first place.

_Damn, why are all the hot one’s always taken? And why are all the creepy ones so fucking relentless?_

Dean shivers, but not from the cold; his unease towards Alistair and the way his mere presence sucked all the light and joy from the bar, still clings to him – its weight, like a leaded ball of dread in his gut.

Dean continues to stare at the couple, shoulders drooping the more playful the duo become, and his mood plummets, he feels like shit; apparently, aside from being a total chicken-shit, he’s also a goddamn masochist. He wants to turn away, but hovers for a few more seconds of torture, eyeing the couple with something very close to envy. 

But in all fairness, Dean’s feelings aren’t completely foul or wretched, he doesn’t wish them ill, or anything that petty. And it's not like he's heartbroken (much) it's just that he’s so tired of being lonely. That doesn't mean that he’s alone. Far from it; Dean’s had more than his fair share of flings. But that's all they were: meaningless, casual, hot and physically satisfying (for damn sure) but in the end, empty. None were strong enough to go the distance. All petering out towards the end. Some amiable, most, just depressing.

And yeah he's got Sam, Bobby, a handful of friends to lean on, but someone to turn to when he needs to vent or unburden his soul, a person that will offer a comforting hand, a strong shoulder, a kind word, that's what he needs, that's what he’s missing.

There's no way he's ever going to lay all of his bullshit on his family. They've got their own problems to deal with. And there's no way he's ever going to ‘go there’ with his buddies. It's none of their damn business. And it's not like they would even care. Not that Dean would know, he's painfully private; Dean's friends have no idea how turbulent his life has been, let alone the lengths he's had to go to insure his and Sam's survival. Only Sam, and Bobby to an extent, know all that he's had to endure, all that he's lost, and the effect it's had on him. How it's left him the broken, desperate, man he is today.

Dean takes one last, longing, look at the happy couple, then drops his head, posture slumped in defeat, and starts to turn away. He's going to start on his warm-up exercises, just not anywhere near the other two men. He'll let them have their privacy.

He takes a step back, then another, about to turn and head towards the other lifeguard station, when someone hollers, "Hey kid, get over here!" 

... 

Castiel jumps. 

Dean startles. 

Gabriel shrugs. “What?”

“Gabe,” Castiel hisses, tearing his gaze from the stranger to glare daggers at his brother, “stop that!” He warns, “Now.” The ‘or else’, unsaid, but nonetheless loud and clear. 

But Gabriel’s not listening, and since he's no longer bothering to hide his intent from Castiel, he puts two fingers between his lips and whistles. Loud.

Dean’s heart leaps at the shrill, piercing, sound. His feet tangle and he staggers, but luckily manages to keep himself from falling flat on his ass. But the damage is done. The unexpected invitation surprised him, but the humiliation he feels for spying on the duo, is going to be a bitch to explain. 

He briefly considers making a run for it. Heck, maybe if he moves fast enough – quickly dashes under the pier and scuttles towards the rear, way back until he's out of sight – they won't notice.

N’ah, that won't work. 

He's been caught, and running away is no longer an option. He’ll just have to man up, approach the waiting pair, and brace himself for the runner’s rejection, probably a punch or two from his boyfriend, as well. 

"Geesh, ‘bout time." Gabriel mutters, then to Castiel, says, "So, ah, guess that's my cue to vamoose." 

"What?" Castiel asks, eyes glued on the outrageously attractive man walking towards him.

Gabriel snorts, “See you tomorrow, bro.” 

"Wha-?" Castiel repeats, finally turning to Gabriel. But he's too late, Gabriel is already climbing into his car. 

Castiel stares until Gabriel’s car is a dot in the horizon, and frowns, confused by his sudden exit, then nearly jumping out of his skin when a soft tap lands on his shoulder. 

"Hey," Dean says, voice soft, eyes wide, hands shooting up to show he's harmless, “sorry, man, didn't mean to scare you."

"You didn't scare me." Castiel answers coolly, trying not to sound too defensive or standoffish, that's the last thing he wants. “You just caught me by surprise." Truth be told, he's embarrassed that Dean caught him off guard; Castiel was hoping to make a better ‘first impression’.

A short, tension-filled, silence follows, but they use it to their advantage. But while Dean shyly glances at the attractive runner, Castiel blatantly, hungrily, drinks in, Dean’s good looks. 

Castiel likes what he sees. A lot. It's a powerful feeling, potent, but alien. It's certainly different than the way he's ever felt towards a complete stranger before. But that's just it, there's an odd sense of familiarity about this one, an intensity of recognition Castiel can't quite place. 

But he'd like to find out what it is; the urge is overwhelming. 

What he needs to do is figure out when and where they may have crossed paths. But how? He can't just blurt it out? Can he? It will most likely sound like some lame pick-up line. Castiel is certain this gorgeous creature is accustomed _that_.

But then he figures, why not? What's the worst that can happen? He can't possibly feel more dejected than he already does, can't possibly get lonelier, either. So he clears his throat, and asks, “Come here often?”

_Smooth_

Castiel groans at his own ineptness. “Ha-ha-ha,” he chuckles, stilted, forced, “what I meant to say is that, ah, have we met? Ever? I mean in the past, of course.”

_Way to make a good first impression._

Castiel is sure he's blown any chance he might have had with this perfect (in every sense of the word) stranger.

But the contrary is true. 

Dean didn't think ‘hot-runner guy’ could get any hotter, but then he hears him speak, and changes his mind. 

The guy's voice should be illegal. Dean’s dick actually jerks in his pants when he hears the low timbre and rubble-roughened-roll of Castiel’s words, it's sexy-as-fuck, and Dean’s body can't help but respond. He just prays he doesn't pop a boner. The thin fabric of his shorts will do nothing to hide his arousal. 

“Um, met? Us? Ah…” Dean could die, or at least he hopes so, why is he having such a hard time talking to the guy? He's a bartender, for chrissakes. Striking up conversations and putting strangers at ease, is in his blood.

And sure, the guy’s insanely hot, and Dean’s been crushing on him for the past hour, but none of that should render him a bumbling imbecile that can't keep his dick from forcing a very awkward introduction. 

Right? 

For the life of him, Dean can't understand why he’s reacting like this. So he gives it another try. 

"Met before?” He repeats, smoother now. “N’ah,” he says, although for a second there, Dean does feel a spark of…something: recognition, deja-vu, the world turning on its head. But before he's able to give it a closer look, it's gone. 

Besides, he's been back to the area for a couple of months now – he and Sam moved in with Bobby weeks ago – and he's never come across this guy. Not at the bar and definitely not at the garage. And with endless shifts between both jobs, Dean’s only managed to make it out to the beach a handful of times. But he's never come across the runner here, either. 

Nope, this is the first time Dean meets this guy; there's absolutely no way he would have ever forgotten a face like _that_. “Trust me,” he insists, “I would definitely remember meeting you.” 

Castiel smiles, not quite sure if he's being flirted with, so he nods and doesn't question Dean’s answer. But nevertheless, something prods at his memory, worsening when he looks directly into Dean’s eyes. A far off memory from a different life, a past he struggles to forget, and he quickly dismisses it, but keeps on smiling. Despite how inexplicably nervous he feels, he finds the younger man, charming. 

_A younger man?_ That wouldn't be Castiel’s first choice. He's not a big fan of inexperienced men, let alone, God forbid, a teenager. It's still mostly dark out, so it's difficult to tell this man’s specific age. He could be in his twenties, or late teens. Either way, Castiel will hold off on any decision until he gets a closer look. He doesn't want to act too rashly and write off a potential ‘fuck-buddy’ because he didn't take a minute or two to investigate further. 

He's horny, so sue him. 

Yes, he's lonely too, and longs to find his ‘true love’, his ‘soul mate’, a perfect partner to sail into the sunset with, blah, blah, blah. But come on, this guy is fucking gorgeous and Castiel is only human, after all. And he's been so good for so long, denied himself every temptation, exercised colossal restraint (on a daily basis), always looking, never touching, holding himself back, suppressing his feelings, his desires, his urges – yeah, he's fucking earned this. 

But he needs to be sure. So he takes several small steps closer (personal space be damned) and gives the young man, a thorough, ‘once-over’. 

The man in question is about an inch or so taller than himself, a bit heavier, bulkier, too, but it's from pure muscle, not an ounce of fat in sight, with brownish-blond hair and eyes that are a beautiful shade of green. They're shapely and expressive, lovely. Castiel moves on to his lips, and unconsciously licks his own – oh what he wouldn't do to taste them. The man’s skin is unblemished, line-free, smooth, and radiant. Youthful, and every inch, a teen. 

_Damn it!_ Just like he suspected. 

Castiel drops his eyes, he can't look anymore, the boy’s beauty is blinding, painful to behold. It's so unfair. So he looks away, upset, the urge to stomp his feet, to rant and rage, is strong. But he recovers quickly, and keeps on smiling, it's forced and obviously fake, but at least he's trying. After all, it's not the kid’s fault Castiel wants nothing more than to lick every delicious inch of him, drag his tongue from sternum to naval, grab his ass, cup his dick, tug and fondle it, feel it grow thick and heavy in his hand, fill his mouth with it, taste its bitterness, savor the sweet-musky tang, suck and swallow…

“Ah, excuse me, Mr...”

Castiel clears his throat, rubs at his eyes, and tries to mentally scrub the lewd images away. “Yes, sorry. Milton. I'm Chief Milton.” He replies, holding out his hand for Dean to shake. 

And shake it, Dean does. He grabs on tight, tests Castiel’s strength against his is own, then brazenly runs his thumb over the top knuckle. They hold onto to each other for a lot longer than necessary, Dean even contemplates reeling Chief Milton in, a hard tug that will pull the older man into his arms.

“Ah, well,” Castiel, sensing Dean’s interest, fake-coughs, let's go of Dean’s hand, and breaks the spell, “guess I had you confused you with someone else.” 

“Yeah,” Dean looks at his empty hand, and blushes, Chief Milton must think he's certifiable, “no worries. It, ah, happens to me all of the time. I'm Dean, by the way. Nice to meet cha.”

Castiel nods. _Dean._ There it is again, that sense that he's forgotten something important. But again, Castiel ignores it, he needs for this stranger, for Dean, to leave. Castiel has work to do, and this boy is too distracting, too…tempting. 

So he narrows his eyes, wipes the smile from his face, and juts his outrageously chiseled chin towards the pier steps. “The beach isn't open to the public, yet.” His words are clipped, matter-of-fact, dripping with authority. “I'm afraid, you’ll have to leave.” He knows he sounds rude, but he's so frustrated and disappointed, it's impossible to inject any warmth into his manners. Besides, it's not like Dean even cares. Castiel’s disappointment and frustrations, are all his own. 

But Dean does notice, and winces; Chief Milton went from genuinely friendly, to terse and cool, and it's completely thrown him off balance. 

Normally Dean would respond with an equally brusque, _'Never mind, buddy.’_ Or a scathing, _'Hey, pal, I only came over because your boyfriend called me!’_ But he doesn't. He holds his tongue, instead; asshole or not, Chief Milton is even more beautiful, up close.

And sure, Dean’s a sucker for a pretty face, but he’s an outright whore for an authoritative man. And unfortunately for Dean, Chief Milton seems just like the type of man that would ride him hard, take none of his bull-shit, demand the very best from him, and accept nothing less in return. 

Dean couldn't be more attracted to Castiel, if he tried. 

But as far as Castiel is concerned, this unfortunate encounter, is over. So he turns his back on Dean, and starts redressing. 

But Dean’s not done with Castiel, just yet. And in an uncharacteristic move, Dean digs his feet deeper – he's not leaving without at least trying to get the guy’s number – and says, “Ah, sorry about that.” 

Castiel whips around, brow cocked, asks, “Pardon?”

Dean gapes for a full five seconds, wondering how anybody can look so unfairly sexy, at this hour of the day. “Yeah, sorry, I didn't mean to trespass or anything, but it was your, um, your boyfriend, that called me over." 

"Boyfriend?" Castiel frowns, confused. “I don't have a boyfriend?”

Dean frowns right back, clarifies, “The short guy that just left. The one that whistled to me. Before.” 

“You mean, Gabriel?” Castiel unconsciously takes a step closer to Dean, shakes his head, grimaces, “He is not my boyfriend. He's my coworker. And, my brother.” Castiel’s shudders at the thought. How could anyone confuse him and his brother for a romantic couple. But then he recalls Gabriel’s moronic kissy faces and the way he grabbed Castiel’s ass when he bent over, and, yeah…bleh. 

Dean beams, says, “That's great!” But immediately regrets it, he sounded way too happy just now. _So what if he doesn't have a boyfriend. Maybe it's because he has a girlfriend._

“I mean, sorry. Guess I put my foot in my mouth.” Dean chuckles, relieved the guy’s not offended, but nevertheless dreads the answer to his next comment. “Bet your girlfriend will get a good laugh, huh? I mean, when you tell her.”

Castiel can't help but smile, the teen couldn't be more wrong. And he seems so nervous, too. But why? 

“I don’t have a girlfriend, either.” Castiel replies, wanting to put Dean at ease, but then he remembers he's not supposed to be interested in the teen, and adds, “I don’t really have time for either.” 

Dean wants to be happy that the Chief is single, but the obvious brush-off definitely dampens his joy. Still, the guy didn't outright say he's not interested in Dean, right? So Dean might still stand a chance, right? 

But Dean’s not about to push his luck, either. Not with the threat of eviction looming over his head. So he schools his features and tries his best to look unaffected, but instead, ends up looking goofy.

“Is that so?” He nods, biting his lips, pursing and smacking them together; he’s still going to ask for a phone number, before he's asked to get lost. "S’cool.” Dean adds, going for casual, but he knows he's on a slippery slope, that he needs to come up with a reason to…linger. “Chief, huh? Like, you're the one that's going to be in charge of today’s drills?”

"Yes.” Castiel's replies, automatic, but then, “Why do you ask?”

Dean fishes inside his jacket pocket, pulls out a folded letter and hands it to Castiel. “I'm trying out. There's my acceptance letter.” 

Well that changes everything. 

Castiel peruses the letter, and there it is, Dean’s name and age, next to a try-out time and date. Today’s date.

“You're really twenty-four?” Castiel smiles at Dean, eyes alight with renewed interest. 

Dean’s brow furrows, “Yeah, Chief.”

Castiel’s smile widens, his insides, jumping for joy. “That's great news Dean. Congratulations.” 

Dean can't believe Chief Milton’s sudden change in attitude, “Ah, gee, thanks.”

The sparkle in Castiel’s eyes intensifies. “You're very welcome, Dean.”

They stare at each other for a long while, but Castiel needs to get started – the sun is almost fully up, and soon, the beach will officially be opened – and drops his eyes. “So Dean, why, may I ask, are you here before opening hours?”

Dean’s stomach does a nervous little flip-flop, he can't possibly tell Castiel the real reason he came out so early. “I love the beach.' He says, and it's true, but not the whole truth. "Used to spend all of my time out here when I was a little kid. But now with work, I don't get to spend as much time out here as I'd like.” 

He kicks at the sand, thinks he's sharing too much, but still adds, “Late at night is the only time I ever get to come out anymore.” Then laughs, “But I still remember all the best hiding places. The best spots to go sunning, to go skinny-dipping.” He winks at Castiel, confides, “Even the best spots for making-out-“

_Fuck, did I really just say that?_

Dean's mouth snaps shut, mortified. “Um, I mean, not that I'm offering.”

Castiel is enjoying himself too much to interrupt, but he takes pity on Dean, and asks, “So, you love the beach and that's why you were here so early?”

Dean nods, fast and jerky. “Yeah. Then I saw you and your brother pulling the equipment out, and I thought maybe you could use a hand?" It’s so lame, but Dean’s desperate to move past his faux-pas. 

“Is that so?” Castiel replies, brow arched, amused, biting his bottom lip to keep from sighing, locking his knees, to keep from swaying. “That's very kind of you, Dean.”

“It's my pleasure, Chief.” 

“Please, call me Castiel."


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel recognizes the brightness in Dean’s eyes, it's the same one shared by every truly dedicated recruit he's had the pleasure to graduate. Dean has great potential, and Castiel has every confidence the younger man will be offered a position by the end of the trials. He just needs to make sure Dean doesn't get assigned to Alistair’s group. Castiel doesn't think he could stand the consequences, if that were to be the outcome.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember the 'slow burn' tag.

_Cast-eel? Cas-tie-eel? Cassss-teel?_

Castiel's name is unique, no doubt about that, definitely not the catchiest. It's odd as fuck, and Dean, always wary of coming off as an uneducated asshole, carefully mouths the many variations of this unconventional name, under his breath. 

_Cast-ee-el?_

He wants to make sure he pronounces the unusual string of syllables correctly, before speaking them out loud. 

_Casstee-Elle?_

_Yup, definitely weird, but badass. And hot._

_Cas-tee-ell? Mmmm, yeah, definitely, hot._

"That's, a, ah, real interesting name you got there, Cas-ti-elle.” Dean hopes he got the name right. Then asks, “Did I get that right? Sorry if I didn't, man, I’m shit with pronunciation. Not that your name is weird or anything. I mean, I think it's cool. Suites you, too." 

_Really?_

Dean could smack himself; he can't believe how self-conscious he’s acting – like a geeky ten year old trying to ask the hot ‘prom king’ out on a date. 

Well, at least he's no longer obsessing over the tryouts.

“So, Casti-elle.” He starts again, voice lower, huskier, still self-conscious, but at least steady.

Castiel’s toes curl in delight, much in the same way Dean’s tongue curls around the last syllable of his name, and smiles. “So?” He repeats, voice just as low, but throatier, sexier, and in Dean’s opinion, hotter than anyone has the right to sound, outside of the bedroom. 

_Mmm, me and Cass-tee-elle in the bedroom…_

"Dean?" 

“o_O”

“Earth to Dean-“ 

“~_~”

“Dean!” Castiel calls Dean’s name a third time, no longer amused. “Are you alright?” 

Castiel initially thought Dean to be an adorable, although frustratingly attractive, teen, and because of that, strictly off-limits. But that all changed when he learned that Dean is actually much older than he initially thought. 

Now, he's free to indulge in Dean’s charm, bask in his company, and pursue him romantically. It's a foreign concept to Castiel, he's never had to pursue anybody in his life. But, if Dean’s agreeable, Castiel would very much like to get to know him better, intimately so. 

“Dean!” 

But the way Dean’s behaving now, is truly troubling.

"^_^”

Yes, very troubling. 

As far as Castiel is concerned, Dean’s unfocused gaze, unintelligible mutterings, slack-jawed, and vacant expression, can only mean one thing, that he is clearly in distress. 

Castiel needs to do something, and fast. It’s what he's trained to do. For as long as he can remember, helping and protecting others, ensuring their safety and wellbeing, is in his blood, his life’s main driving force. It's what he thrives on and truly fulfills his soul. 

It's time to act.

“Dean,” he calls again, voice sharper, body edging nearer, “I'm just going to…touch you-“ he warns, voice softening, gentler now, it's protocol, part of every Ocean Rescuer, as well as paramedic’s, training: always handle conflict (whether it be natural or unnatural in origin) with great delicacy. And after years in the field, Castiel is an expert in dealing with all manner of unpredictable variables. In this case, Dean’s worrisome behavior. 

Now, with only a few feet separating them, Castiel raises his arm, waves one hand across the catatonic man’s face, and rests his other hand, lightly, on his shoulder.

“What the-“ Dean snaps, flinching from the unexpected touch, reacting to Castiel’s hand as if scalded – feels like his shoulder’s on fire, like his skin is sizzling from the barely there pressure to his arm. Hell, the heat coming off Castiel’s hand is so powerful, it wouldn’t surprise Dean at all, if it left a brand behind. 

He looks up and meets Castiel’s eyes, and smiles, small and wistful, “Oh, sorry,” he apologizes, embarrassed, cheeks reddening from the look of utter bewilderment on Castiel’s face, “did you say something?” Dean’s voice is a little bit higher than he'd like, but at least now he's fully focused on their conversation. 

_Were we having a conversation?_

“Sorta zoned out there for a bit.” He adds, then clarifies, “Haven't been getting much sleep, lately. Just tired, is all.” 

_Fuck’s wrong with me?_

Dean takes a deep breath, tries to clear his head, then very casually asks, “So, ah, Casti-elle, do you…want me?” 

_The fuck?_

“No!” Dean blurts, mortified over that horrific blunder. Mind racing, he comes up with, “Sorry, man, that came out totally wrong. What I meant to say was, ‘do you want me to help?’ Not like, you know, the other kind of ‘want’, ‘cause that's just crazy, right? I mean we just met.” _Please stop talking._ “... seriously, how could you, I mean, why would you want...me? Dude, you don't even know me…” _God, I sound like a moron._

Dean knows he’s bombing, throwing away any chance he ever had of getting the Chief’s phone number, but he doesn't want to give up, yet; he's pretty sure Castiel’s interested in him too, or at least was. It's a gut deep feeling, plus the way the guy keeps aiming those killer baby-blues right at him, and then there's the touching. So yeah, even though Castiel is way out of his league, the dude is definitely sending Dean some serious, ‘come hither’ vibes. 

But first (before Dean even thinks of opening his mouth again) he needs to calm the fuck down, clear his mind, and make sure that his next words are chosen, with care. 

So he stalls, cranes his head back (eyes screwed shut against the sun’s early rays and Castiel’s confused frown) and exhales, wondering for the umpteenth time since they met, why this man in particular, affects him so dramatically. It can't just be Castiel’s good looks – although, the Chief’s overall packaging is pretty fucking impressive. But really, in the great scheme of things, so what? Dean’s been with his fair share of attractive people before, a fuck-ton, if he's being honest, and each one better looking than the last. So if it's not Castiel’s looks, then what is it?

_It's fucking frustrating, that's what it is._

Dean takes another deep pull of air, drops his head, opens his eyes (thank God, he’s still here) and tries again, “Castiel, what I meant to say before was, ‘would you like some help?’’” _Not great, but better._ “I mean, you've got a lot of stuff here, and you shouldn't have to do... whatever it is you're doing, alone, is all." 

Dean is still hopelessly flustered, and still hopelessly staring, but nonetheless emboldened to further pursue a conversation with his new friend (is it too soon to think of Castiel as a friend?) when Castiel responds to his offer by squeezing his shoulder.

Dean sucks in a sharp breath, and Castiel ‘ums’. 

“Um…” And with his hand still firmly latched onto Dean’s arm (and with no immediate plans of removing it) Castiel surges forward, breaches Dean’s personal space bubble, parts his lips as if to speak, but then doesn't. He bites his full upper lip, instead, worries it for a beat, then smiles, all the while using the gentle weight of his hand to keep Dean from pulling away – not that Dean ever would, but Castiel doesn't know that – and stares right back.

They stand that way for a minute (maybe an hour) practically chest to chest, noses almost touching, eyes locked onto the other’s, so close they can smell the mint from their mingled exhales. Castiel’s hand is a leaden weight on Dean’s body, grounding him, anchoring him in place, while Dean’s hand leaves the safety of his own pocket for the uncertainty of Castiel’s forearm, hovers for an instant, then drops, rests for a second, then boldly, brazenly (as if he had all the right in the world) spreads open over the warm expanse of solid muscle, and squeezes right back.

Castiel marvels, Dean gapes, both unsure of what's actually happening. It's something neither can explain. On the surface, they're two awestruck idiots facing each other, but underneath, they're two lonely men falling helplessly under the other’s spell. 

But how is that possible? It shouldn't be. It's absolutely groundless, this baseless attraction that's mysteriously sprung up between them. It’s absurd, all levels of insane, and just shy of laughable – yet oddly intimate. A magnetic pull drawing them together, so powerful, it’s undeniable. 

“So, ah, Cas, is it okay if I call you Cas?” Dean inches closer, squeezes the corded muscle of Castiel’s arm, prods, “Hm? May I?” And with an impressively steady voice, given the tense circumstances, asks, “Wanna tell me where you want me to... put it?” 

Castiel’s eyes bug out. “Um…” Castiel blinks and the spell breaks, then smiles, while his insides melt. 

“Cas?”

“My apologies…but, did you say, p-put... it?” 

Dean smiles, sly and knowing, then gestures to the vast array of rescue gear housed in the large shed. "Yeah Cas. Where do you want me to put all of that stuff?”

"Ah,” Castiel begins, then shakes his head. He needs to get a grip on himself. “Yes…of course.” He nods, then unconsciously drags his hand from Dean’s shoulder, towards the large bulge of his bicep.

Castiel bites back a groan, not only is Dean terribly kind and considerate to volunteer his services, but he’s also rock solid. Castiel drops his eyes, zeros in on Dean’s feet, then slowly climbs back up. Dean’s body is without fault, bowed legs and all; he's strong and solid, built like a brick-house-wall. It's a trait Castiel greatly admires, and not just for the obvious aesthetic values, but for the discipline and dedication it takes to maintain such a physique.

“Thank you, Dean.” Throat dry, Castiel swallows, the dry click drowned out by the screeching gulls flying overhead, but his words are perfectly audible. “It's very kind of you, thank you.” He repeats, unable to stop thanking Dean. But it's just as well, since his fingers also refuse to let him go. 

Dean modestly shrugs off the compliment, “N’ah, man, it's nothin.” Then he tightens his hold on Castiel’s arm, leans in close, says softly, confidentially, “I’m glad to do it.” 

Castiel’s breath stutters; Dean is definitely flirting with him. His heart starts racing, he's out of breath, his lungs feel like he's been running for miles, the way he feels after a rigorous run, or a punishing swim. And it terrifies him.

But this is what he wanted: a good fuck, an overdue tryst. A lover. A boyfriend. A mate. But it's one thing to contemplate a one-night-stand, let alone a lifetime partner. It's an all together different scenario when the very real opportunity, freely offers itself. 

“We, ah, we don’t generally need all of this equipment,” Castiel deflects, words breathy, chest heaving, “but since we're holding tryouts today, we’ll need the bulk of it.” Then he takes a step back, the move is deliberate, not only does it dislodge Dean’s grip from his arm, but it also (and more importantly) puts some much needed distance between them. Castiel can't seem to inhale without also swallowing traces of the Dean’s scent. 

“Then it's a good thing I'm here.” Dean says, worried he went too far, sorry for the loss of physical contact. “Especially since I'm up for one of those lifeguard posts.” 

“Yes.” Castiel agrees, ashamed with the way he's acting. Dean is excited about the upcoming drills, about the prospect of a new future. And all Castiel wants to do is wrap him in his arms. “Actually, since I'm Chief of the O.R., I get to supervise, while two other lifeguard’s, run the drills.” 

“Dude, that’s fucking awesome. Oh, geesh, sorry, Cas. My mouth, it kinda has a mind of it’s own.” Dean snorts, apologetic. “Probably a good idea for me to get that filter Sam’s always nagging me about." _You're rambling again._ “’Cause I'm always blurting out stuff without thinking. Kinda like I'm doing right now. So I, ah, yeah...guess I'll just, stop.” 

“Sam?” Castiel asks, heart dropping into his stomach; he's suddenly nauseated, “ Is that your…boyfriend?”

Dean sputters, “What? Ew! Gross!” He shudders, grimaces, “No, man, Sam’s my brother!” Dean shakes out his hands, thoroughly disgusted, but a moment later, calm and fully composed, adds, “Actually, I'm, ah, not seeing anybody at the moment.” 

_Thank god!_ Castiel is so relieved he almost pulls Dean into his arms, and kisses him. He laughs instead, grateful this beautiful man is single. “I find that hard to believe.” 

Dean huffs, puts all of his cards on the table, “Well, guess it's because I don't have time for that either. A boyfriend, I mean. Just like you.” 

Castiel doesn't know what to say to that.  
Jumping for joy and fist-pumping the air might be too extreme. Dean is gay, or at least bi, just like him. Castiel breaks out in a wide grin, one if his rare gummy ones. “Well, um, perhaps you'll meet someone here. At the try-outs. Someone that will catch your eye.”

Dean nods, because, yeah, someone sure as hell has caught his eye. “Yeah…maybe I will.” Then throwing caution to the wind, says, “Maybe I already have.” 

Castiel’s eyes widen, it's too much, too soon, and he blushes, deep red. “So, ah, at the end of the trials, after mass eliminations, we, um, evaluate the, ah, remaining recruits.” He needlessly rambles off facts, floundering helplessly under Dean’s gaze. “Yes, we do. And then we announce which one will win the chance to also apprentice with me. Or, I mean, with a member of the O.R.” 

He wipes at his brow, it's still chilly out, but Castiel’s core is furnace-hot. “Is that something that might be of interest to you?” 

Dean grins in response, more than a little pleased with how flustered he's managed to get Castiel. "Hells yeah, Cas.”

It's true that Dean would love to be a lifeguard. But his real dream is to be a member of the Ocean Rescue Squad. But that's never going to happen. For one thing, you have to be a licensed paramedic, which means more school than Dean has ever attended. And for another, those guys never seem to retire. There are only so many posts, and they are all always taken. And besides, even if a post were to miraculously open, there's a miles long list of highly qualified candidates, eager for a spot. 

“You're interested in the O.R.?” Castiel is more pleased by this news than he'd like to admit. Dean as a lifeguard would be a glorious site. But Dean running rescue missions by his side, out on the ocean, helping people, keeping the waters safe, it more than Castiel could hope for. 

“Definitely. Being on the O.R., man, that would be a dream come true for me.” 

Castiel smiles in response, he's got a lot to process. So he nods towards the shed, says, “Come then, let's get to work.” And plans to spend the next few hours getting to know Dean, a whole lot better. 

…

With Dean’s help, and Castiel’s guidance, they set up the training field in record time. Together they strategically place several obstacles, multiple props, and the majority of the station’s training equipment, all according to Castiel’s meticulously planned program. They’re so efficient and work so well together, they even manage to set out refreshments for the day’s trainees.

It's chilly work at first – both wearing their jackets zipped to the neck, bodies braced against the frigid ocean breeze – but once the day begins to warm, they happily peel off their outer most layers and bask in the early morning sun. All to soon, Dean’s down to his t-shirt and shorts, while Castiel is back to wearing only his swim trunks; it’s all Dean can do to keep from drooling. 

But in spite of the ‘thick-as-honey-tension’ surrounding them, they stay focused, and work nonstop. The work isn't difficult, but it is intensive, and soon they're coated with a fine sheen of sweat. They weave and wind their way around each other, sometimes colliding, more often than not skimming by, both momentarily stuttering in their steps whenever bare skin actually connects. 

Dean, ever the gentleman, hoists and drags those pieces he deems too heavy or cumbersome for someone of Castiel's caliber to even touch. While Castiel (although an inch shorter and at least twenty pounds lighter than Dean, but possessing the combined strength and ability of a trained athlete) easily maneuvers the heaviest objects into place. He finds Dean’s gallantry touching (and himself more enamored by by the second) but if anyone is going to posture, show off their considerable strength and prowess at the beach, it’s going to be him, the highly regarded, and heavily decorated, Chief of the O.R.S..

...

At least an hour has passed since they started working, but neither is showing any signs of fatigue. If anything, they’re more animated, energized, and cheerful than they were, when they first began.

It's probably because they've been chatting (flirting) non-stop. 

It started innocently enough, both only briefly mentioning their pasts, purposefully keeping their remarks vague, their comments casual, nothing too serious, mostly impersonal; basically two strangers trading a series of trivial pleasantries back and forth. But in spite of their feigned nonchalance, the dynamic shifts, and all too soon, the conversation segues into territory neither is ready, nor willing, to delve into. So they don't, and they opt instead for a much needed change of subject; their love of the beach. 

_This_ they know, _this_ they share: the care and welfare of the ocean, being outdoors, the sun, sand and surf, helping people, protecting them, it's immensely rewarding for Castiel, but frustrating for Dean; he feels like he's in limbo, so close to his goal, but still, miles away. And it's wonderful and intriguing, realizing that their goals are the same, that they’re driven by the same desire; they're completely in sync and a strong friendship, is inevitable. 

It should be all kinds of awkward, this sudden interest in the other’s background, but it isn't, it's easy, a natural fit, and something they could easily get used to. Castiel certainly wouldn't mind furthering his relationship with Dean.

As for Dean, well, he's never really felt this way before. And he should be freaking out, right? Because this, _this right here_ , this weird-ass connection he feels with Castiel, is all kinds of crazy. It’s terrifying and he should definitely put a stop to it. At least, that's what he keeps telling himself.

But he doesn’t. And instead of telling Castiel to mind his own fucking business when he asks Dean about his childhood, Dean tells him the truth. All of it. Dean doesn’t want to dodge this man’s questions. Not Castiel’s. And Dean’s okay with that. He wants to talk about everything. His life, his past, his family, dreams, ambitions; he wants Castiel to know all of him.

Okay, so maybe telling Castiel about everything is unrealistic, not to mention a terrible idea (even though Dean would love nothing more) but he hasn't completely lost his mind; Dean still wants to get hired, after all. So for the sake of their budding friendship (and his career) Dean will censor his words, edit his history, omit the highlights from his most unsavory moments, and ghost over the seedier (illegal) things he's had to do in order to survive. The last thing Dean wants, is to scare Castiel off.

That was the plan, anyway. But in the end, Dean exposes more about himself, and his past, than he intended. He supposes it’s because of how comfortable and familiar he already feels around Castiel. Safe and secure in the other man’s presence. _Safe and secure?_ Dean can't recall the last time he felt that way. It's like he can almost believe that the Chief actually cares about him. Like Dean’s words, his stories and experiences, actually matter. So it's not surprising when Dean drops his walls, despite all of his trust issues, and shares the more intimate details of his life, with so little care for his own privacy. 

Dean speaks openly throughout, and it’s all kinds of messed up, but he can’t find it in himself to shut-up. So he doesn’t. But it's when his story takes a tragic turn, and Castiel stops what he's doing, mid-task (drops everything in order to give Dean his undivided attention) that Dean falters, unsure if he should continue, or not. 

“Ah…sorry, guess I got a little carried away there.” Dean says, apologizing for airing so much if his dirty laundry, cheeks aflame from the look of intense, yet genuine, concern on Castiel’s face; it’s stern, grim, but somehow open, judgment free, no sign of pity amidst the cool blue of his eyes, or the plushness of lips. Dean wouldn't have been able to continue if he thought, for one second, that Castiel felt sorry for him.

"No need to apologize, Dean. Please…tell me everything.” Castiel says, already hopelessly hooked on every selfless, brave, and deeply traumatized inch, of this remarkable young man.

It's all the assurance Dean needs. “Ah, yeah, okay then, but remember, you asked for it.” He jokes, then, taking a deep breath, smoothly picks up where he left off and recounts in vivid detail, how he overcame every obstacle, conquered his fears, and defied all of the odds.

All the while Castiel listens: attention rapt, face full of wonder, concern, sorrow; that Dean had the ‘spirit’, the drive, and motivation to persevere and fight for his dreams, never letting life get in the way or his failures derail him (at such a young age, no less) is just fucking admirable, as far as Castiel is concerned. It’s inspiring and humbling, setting his insides all a quiver and his heart all a flutter.

But he would think Dean’s tale unbelievable, if it didn't sound so familiar. _It can't be._ Castiel thinks. _Or can it?_ He wonders.

But it is, and it can, because he does know this story, experienced it firsthand, as a matter of fact. And after years of denial and self-flagellation (all of it done so he could forget the horrors of that night) Castiel can still clearly recall the heartbreak and bitter grief, all too well. 

_Dean’s one of the children from that boat. Oh, dear god…_

Castiel is unsure how to respond after his epiphany: should he tell Dean about their connection? Confess his role in his mother’s death? Admit his fault, beg his forgiveness, he'll surely lose Dean’s friendship. But maybe Dean will understand. Castiel was just a child too, at the time, a foolish brat. Careless and selfish, yes, but in the end, he tried his best. It wasn't nearly good enough, of course, and little comfort to a motherless baby. Castiel failed, there’s no denying it, he not only cost Dean’s mother her life, but Michael’s as well. 

A cold chill sweeps through Castiel’s body and he shivers. It's still too soon, the pain still too fresh for him, there’s no way he's talking about this now. Maybe later (preferably never) but for the time being, Castiel will remain silent and keep what he remembers from their shared history, to himself; he won't risk alienating Dean with his pointless confessions or sloppy excuses. 

And besides, they're focusing on Dean now, not Castiel. It's Dean’s traumatic past they're exploring, not Castiel’s. Dean’s the one who needs to unburden his soul and let go of his pent up grief. Not Castiel. And it seems to be working, too; the therapeutic effects (another reason for Castiel to keep quiet) clearly evident in the relaxed slump of Dean’s shoulders and the slight softening of his furrowed brow.

Castiel wants to be brave for Dean, a strong shoulder to lean on in his time of need. So he listens, and waits. But instead of the hero he wishes he were, he's a rattled mess; Dean’s story has shaken him to his very core and Castiel flounders for a reply. Castiel silently berates himself – for his cowardice, his weaknesses – he wishes he could take Dean’s pain away, but he's got nothing left to give. 

He's already done too much as it is (unbeknownst to Dean) but he has to at least try. He needs to comfort Dean, to bolster his shattered ego, to ease and calm his nerves, to promise him hope and offer salvation. But instead he's stymied, tongue-tied, and useless; Castiel is a man of action, after all, expressing himself through words has never been easy for him. And it's while his mind races with a variety of ways to address Dean’s dilemma, that his body (moving on instinct alone) responds.

He's on automatic, he has to be, because one second he’s leaning against the hard edge of a long, plastic, table – at least a good six feet from where Dean is standing – and the next, he's wrapping his fingers around Dean’s bicep. Castiel doesn't even remember moving.

Dean looks up at Castiel, and winces from the pressure, eyes darting from Castiel’s eyes to the dented flesh; Castiel's grip is tight and more than a little painful, but Dean doesn't pull away. Deep down Dean knows Castiel's touch is meant as a show of comfort, of support, a physical sign that he’s not alone, but to Dean, it's also a lifeline. And instead yanking his arm free (like he would, if this were anybody else) he presses into it. And it's not awkward at all, even though it should be. Hell, If anything, and if Dean had his way, they would be touching more, and with less layers in between.

...

Dean feels marginally better by the end of his story, despite the ever present remorse that stubbornly clings to him like a second skin. Feels like he can finally breathe again. That doesn't mean this momentary ease of conscious excuses him from dealing with his debilitating shame, far from it; he’s incredibly embarrassed with his lack of self restraint. He knows he said too much and dreads Castiel’s reaction. 

Dean’s afraid that by being so open, he's lost the Chief’s good-will and easy camaraderie. That Castiel’s friendly attitude, especially after listening to Dean drone on endlessly about his pitiful past, will surely change. That he'll scoff at Dean’s troubles, think him a whiny and pathetic baby – a hopeless cause that's too broken and too much trouble with which to bother – and that the friendship that blossomed so effortlessly between them, will be lost.

But Dean needn’t have worried, just one look into the Chief’s kind expressive eyes is enough to ease his troubled mind, and lay all of his doubts, to rest.

Nevertheless, tired of hearing himself talk – and more than a little intimidated by Castiel’s intense focus – Dean scrambles to change the subject. “So, ah, what about you, Cas?” He croaks, throat, arid dry. “Got any badass stories you wanna share?” His lips curl into a half-smirk, feet crossing at the ankles. He's going for super casual, unaffected, but it's painfully forced and not fooling anyone. “Rescue any cute bikini babes lately?” He asks, fighting the urge to reach out and kiss Castiel.

Castiel doesn’t know whether to laugh or to cry. On the one hand, he’s desperate to learn more about what Dean remembers. But on the other, he knows he shouldn't push Dean; the young man is clearly uncomfortable. So Castiel will drop the matter, for now, and ask Dean more about it, later.

Besides, Dean’s recount is mostly how Castiel remembers it happening – the drownings, the rescue, the aftermath – but not all of it; there are several glaring discrepancies. Dean’s version greatly differs from Alistair’s account, especially on the ‘how and where’ the drownings occurred, and on the ‘who exactly went after who’ parts. Castiel intends to to get to the bottom of this mystery, but for Dean’s sake, not just yet.

“Hmm…” Castiel hums, nodding politely at the end of Dean’s tale, making no comment (to Dean’s great relief) on all that he just heard, and only replying to Dean’s ridiculous questions. Castiel finds them amusing, but he's also more than ready to change gears and follow the path Dean has laid out for them. 

“Well…” He begins, slowly running his hand from the bulge of Dean’s bicep to the large swell of his shoulder, “contrary to popular belief, Dean, an Ocean Rescue Chief’s life isn't just about rescuing bikini clad ladies, or speedo wearing studs.” His answer teases, his touch provokes, but it's exactly what Dean deserves for asking such a preposterous question in the first place. “Although,” he continues, seductively purring his explanation, “I have been known, on occasion, to let my colleagues sprint after the damsels, while I prefer to chase after…well...” Castiel shrugs, reply laden with innuendo, voice low and sexy, words trailing off while Dean’s imagination fills in the rest.

“@_@”

“Why, just the other day,” Castiel continues, taking a step forward, eyes bright and challenging, a perfect match to the playfulness reflected in Dean’s, “I had the honor of giving mouth to mouth resuscitation to a young man, about your age,” he guesses, hand dropping with a slow sensual drag from Dean’s shoulder all the way to his muscled forearm, “but not nearly as handsome.” 

Castiel is officially ‘full on flirting’ – with his grip on Dean lasting longer than platonically necessary, and his brazen intrusion of the younger man’s personal space – Castiel is leaving Dean no room to doubt, his intentions.

And Dean doesn't. He would fist pump the air if it didn't mean breaking contact, so he leans into the touch instead, reveling in the warm weight of Castiel’s hand and the soothing caress of his fingers. “Is that so…” He flirts right back, moistening his lips with a quick swipe of his tongue, reaching up to cover Castiel’s hand with his own, “guess it's a good thing I came along then, huh?” He leans in closer, whispers, “Gotta make sure the next person you give mouth-to-mouth to is more to your…liking.” 

Castiel nearly swoons, mesmerized by the slickness of Dean’s lips and aroused by his heated words. But he's in way over his head and knows he needs to slow things down; now is not the time and here is not the place. It's getting late and the other trainees are due to arrive soon. 

But despite knowing that their time alone is rapidly running out, Castiel remains rooted to the spot – with his hand burning under Dean’s, and the vastness of the ocean at their backs – it's impossible to pull away. 

So they stand like that for another minute, maybe ten, when out of nowhere (at least that's how it seems to Dean) Castiel resumes his explanation on what Dean’s life will be like, as a lifeguard.

“Ah, well, your day to day duties will vary according to the season and the crowds, it can be quite unpredictable.” Castiel feels like an idiot, but if their conversation keeps going in the same blatantly suggestive direction, he's liable to drop to his knees and beg Dean to let him suck him off. The way he's acting around Dean, provocative, teasing, is so out of character for him, but he's nevertheless thrilled by Dean’s equally suggestive retorts.

“It's not all sun, surf, and beach-bunnies, Dean,” Castiel continues, feeling marginally steadier, less jittery, “because it can get tedious at times.” Then he drops his hand, takes a small step back and pointedly ignores the tiny crease that forms across Dean’s forehead. 

“But even so, there’s always plenty to keep every lifeguard on their toes. On any given day,” he drones on, “there are hundreds, sometimes thousands, of lives whose safety is our main responsibility.”

Talk about mixed signals. 

Dean thinks he might have whiplash. He sure as shit feels dizzy; he's honestly having a hard time keeping up the Chief. One second Castiel is all up in Dean’s business – strutting around like he owns the place, eyeing Dean up and down like a tasty morsel, undressing him with his eyes. And the next, he's all no-nonsense and business-like, lecturing Dean, like some old curmudgeon. 

Did he imagine Castiel’s interest? Dean was so sure he saw desire, lust, and a greedy sort of hunger in the blue depths of Castiel’s eyes. Heck, for a second there, Dean was convinced the Chief was about to take him, right then and there. Right in the open where anybody could see them, bend Dean over any available surface, and fuck him raw. Which, coincidentally, is exactly how Dean would have preferred things to play out. 

Seriously, Dean practically served himself on a silver platter to the guy. And in return he gets this? A seriously fucked-up brush off? _What the fuck?_

Dean doesn't let his disappointment get him down, though. Of course he's bummed out, wishes the outcome were different – and he's sure as hell going to try his damnedest to hide it – but by this point, he’ll gladly take whatever Castiel is willing to give. 

...

Things eventually settle back to normal, or as normal as they can, between a sexually repressed Chief of the O.R. and his sexually frustrated trainee. And even though the residual tension between them has tapered off somewhat, at least enough to allow their conversation to once again flow smoothly, their emotions are still on high alert; both know it wouldn't take too much to reignite the embers still smoldering beneath the surface.

And that's how the rest of their morning goes, with Castiel talking about his day to day duties, extolling the lifeguard/Ocean Rescue community, how close they are, how they’re more of a brotherhood (a tightly knit band-of-brothers, if you will) rather than a group of coworkers. 

And Dean smiles widely throughout, attentive, absorbing every word and phrase, memorizing every clever anecdote Castiel shares with him. Castiel – the man, instructor, hero, all around badass, the things he's done and seen, his whole life – is wondrous to Dean. Everything he says, from each heroic act to every death defying feat, sounds so amazing, so awe inspiring and ideal to Dean, that he forgets his earlier disappointment, and instead refocuses his energies on achieving his goals; he's convinced, now more than ever, that this is the right career path for him.

Dean’s inner debate doesn't go unnoticed, Castiel can clearly see the effects his experiences are having on the young recruit. From the way Dean’s cheeks redden when Castiel invites him to run with him in the mornings, to how large his grin grows when Castiel describes the joys of spending entire shifts out on the open water – how peaceful and centering an experience it is. 

But his favorite reactions, by far, are the soft gasps of pure fascination Dean exhales whenever Castiel verbalizes his hope that he be the one to personally train Dean.

“Jeez, Cas, way to impress a guy.” Dean slaps Castiel heartedly on the back, excitement replacing his earlier nerves.

Castiel ducks his head down, blushing from Dean’s praise. "Dean...you flatter me."

Dean gushes, “No, man, seriously. You're like my idol.” He's inspired, amped up. “I mean, it's great what you do…and, well, I want to do those things too. It's my dream.” 

Castiel smiles, nods. “You will.” It's a promise. 

Castiel recognizes the brightness in Dean’s eyes, it's the same one shared by every truly dedicated recruit he's had the pleasure to graduate. Dean has great potential, and Castiel has every confidence the younger man will be offered a position by the end of the trials. He just needs to make sure Dean doesn't get assigned to Alistair’s group. Castiel doesn't think he could stand the consequences, if that were to be the outcome. 

Just the thought of Dean training under Alistair makes the hairs on the back of his neck prickle. Castiel noticeably bristles (just from thinking it) clenches his jaw tightly, and briefly debates whether he should or shouldn't warn Dean about that monster. 

But if he does, what would he say? That he’s suspicions of Alistair? That he doubts his true motives? That he believes Alistair’s intentions to be sinister? 

It's all speculation, at this point, the scared mutterings of a few traumatized trainees and his own faulty memories. Castiel has no concrete proof, and he's yet to uncover what Alistair's real agenda might be. He's got nothing.

But if Dean does end up (God forbid) with Alistair as his mentor, then Dean will just have to decide for himself how far he's willing to extend his trust, to the senior lifeguard. The thought is far from comforting, but Castiel has faith in Dean. He's certain Dean will see right through Alistair’s flimsy façade and mark him for the conniving phony he truly is – no matter how thick the manipulative asshole, lays on the charm. 

But just to be on the safe side (not that Castiel doesn't trust Dean to make wise decisions, or think him too naïve to make the right choices) he’ll show Dean what to look out for, and where he needs to tread carefully. It’s not like he's purposefully trying to tarnish Alistair’s character, Castiel is a professional, after all. And besides, Castiel knows that given enough time, and ample leeway, Alistair will do that job, all by himself. 

So after seriously debating what he should or shouldn't say, Castiel chooses to tell Dean everything; he's going to expose Alistair. He's going to tell Dean all about his future boss’ unsettling 'attraction' for new trainees. Especially the prettiest ones. How Alistair tends to pick one or two from the group, personally take them under his wing and (for lack of a better word) groom them until they meet his very exacting standards. 

Castiel needs to impress upon Dean how dangerous an associate Alistair can be. How Alistair will purposefully seek out the more troubled youths and ‘befriend’ them – probably because they're the most vulnerable and easiest to control – only to lure them into his web of lies with promises of better pay and endless promotions. Or so Castiel assumes.

But that's neither here nor there. Whatever drives Alistair, whatever his motivations are, is unacceptable, and Castiel is done being a bystander.

“Dean, there's something I need to tell you-" 

But Dean’s not listening, he's been too busy battling his own inner demons to notice Castiel struggle with his own conscious. It's not like Dean meant to ignore him, far from it. If anything, Dean’s ‘hyper aware’ to all things Castiel. Sure, it's nerve wrecking, liking Castiel _that way_ , but instead of freaking out over it, Dean embraces it, wishes, in fact, that Castiel, would like him back. 

But what can he do? 

Dean’s pretty sure he already struck-out with Castiel, and that there's zero chance of anything romantic happening between them; the distracted and faraway look in the Chief’s eyes confirms Castiel’s disinterest in him. But even if Dean can't have that, he still longs for Castiel’s friendship, his good opinion, and would be thrilled if Castiel saw him as someone worthy to be a member of his “lifeguard family’. 

Then it hits him, like an unfortunate stroke of inspiration, “I’m a friend of Alistair’s.”

“What?” Castiel feels his insides seize, like the temperature suddenly dropped thirty degrees. _Dean is friends with Alistair? He can't be, the universe wouldn't be so cruel_. 

He simply misheard, that's what happened – because of his own unhealthy preoccupation with Alistair, he misunderstood what Dean just said.

“Excuse me,” Castiel inches closer, voice dipping octaves lower, asks, “did you say that you're friends with... Alistair?" But the question sounds more like a warning, and he's not sorry.

 _What the fuck?_ Dean almost takes a step back, but holds his ground. And even though the thin, grim, line of Castiel’s lips make him feel like he did something wrong, he knows he hasn't. Or at least he thinks he hasn't. Dean’s not exactly sure what the hell just happened, or how he should respond, so he tries, “Ah…yeah, I am?” And hopes that it was the right answer; he's honestly puzzled by Castiel’s latest mood shift. 

“He's a lifeguard too, right? I mean, he and I go way back. We’re real close. Heck, Alistair is the whole reason I'm here in the first place. Wouldn't have gotten accepted if it wasn't for his help.” Dean lies about his relationship with Alistair, hoping it gets him back into Castiel’s good graces, especially when he considers the fond way in which Castiel talked about his coworkers.

Unfortunately for Dean, that was the wrong answer.

“I see." Says Castiel, tone frigid. "Well, I have to finish getting ready...” He takes a step back, then another, both measured and without turning away, “thank you for your help, Dean, and I, well, I need to catch up on some paperwork, so…” he drops his eyes and finally turns around, back facing Dean as he heads towards Gabriel’s lifeguard tower. "I'll be sure to thank Alistair for sending you.” He shouts over his shoulder, slamming the door with so much force, the windows rattle. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of course Castiel would lose interest in him. Of course he wouldn’t want to get involved with someone as damaged as Dean. Especially after hearing about Dean’s twisted history. That Dean shared the most pivotal points in his life, told Castiel about his darkest and most painful moments, divulged secrets he's never even shared with Sam, was bound to be a deal breaker. Bound to blow up in his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was hell to edit. Hope it flows, apologies for typos, for shtty grammar, crappy spelling, and the such. The past tenses were a bitch to get right. I hope they don't throw you off.

“What the fuck just happened?”

To say Dean's dumbstruck by Castiel’s abrupt dismissal, would be an understatement of massive proportions. He’s shocked, shell-shocked to be exact, bomb-blasted and leveled, left a smoldering ruin.

"Huh?"

Everything seemed to be going fine, or so Dean thought. One second he and Castiel are talking, getting to know each other, shooting the shit. Then, boom! Dean’s knocked on his ass, flattened by a massive explosion of rejection, left to flail and sputter helplessly, in the aftermath.

Yeah, it may sound a little mellow-dramatic, but that’s how Dean feels.

“Seriously…what the hell?”

Dean wracks his brain for an answer, thinks back to the exact moment when Castiel’s face fell, when the warmth of their easy banter soured and their blossoming friendship withered – left abandoned at his feet to convulse and bleed a slow, painful, death. 

Nope, Dean doesn't do rejection well. 

"...the hell?"

But the more Dean replays the events of last few minutes, the angrier he becomes, both with himself, but even more so, with Castiel.

“Fucking damnit!” He curses, because he should have known better. 

Of course Castiel would lose interest in him. Of course he wouldn’t want to get involved with someone as damaged as Dean. Especially after hearing about Dean’s twisted history. That Dean shared the most pivotal points in his life, told Castiel about his darkest and most painful moments, divulged secrets he's never even shared with Sam, was bound to be a deal breaker. Bound to blow up in his face. 

Seriously, the only thing that should come as a surprise, at this point, is how long it took Castiel to show his true colors, declare Dean a ‘lost cause’, and literally walk away from him without so much as a backwards glance. 

“What an asshole.” Dean grumbles, words heated but with no real bite, valiantly ignoring the wounded lilt in his voice and the catch in his throat. “Well, it’s his fucking loss.” He tells himself, shrugging away the hurt.

And with that truly depressing picture, Dean grits his teeth, squares his shoulders, turns his back on Castiel’s lifeguard tower, and steels himself for what really matters and what he must keep in mind: that now, more than ever, he has to triumph in the upcoming tryouts.

Not because of Castiel; Dean’s done trying to impress that prick. No, Dean’s ambitions have nothing to do with Castiel. His success is solely for Sam and Bobby's benefit, for his family's future, and has nothing to do, whatsoever, with Castiel’s perception of him.

Dean doesn’t give two shits about that asshole’s opinion. Not anymore.

…

Castiel could kick himself, he was so unfair to Dean. “Fucking idiot.” he hisses, smacking himself soundly on the forehead, he feels like a piece shit.

“God, why was I such a prick? It’s not like Dean owes me anything, we just met!” He’s rambling over his stupidity, bemoaning his abhorrent behavior and lack of self-control.

And he's not wrong, he acted like a jerk and totally blew his chances with Dean. 

“Damnit!” He groans, face-palming, not exactly sure why he acted like such a jealous douche in the first place. Dean was just being friendly, after all. A real honest to goodness gentleman. 

_It’s why he offered to help me. Dean was just being nice, right?_ That has to be it.

“But then again…“ Castiel pauses and second guesses his conclusion when he recalls Dean’s offer to help. How his broad chest puffed up proudly when Castiel thanked him. How he preened, posed, and flexed (like a goddamn model) when Castiel praised him. 

_It was a non-too-subtle display of his substantial strength, that's all._ “He was just showing off.”

Castiel no longer thinks Dean’s display was a flirtation; he’s not that vain. But rather a round-about way to impress his worth to Castiel, to prove that he’s a team player and worthy of the title ‘lifeguard’. 

_Dean’s only here because he wants a position on our team. That's what this was all about._

“Damnit-“ he curses, unable to ignore the twinge of disappointment that curls meanly around his spine; Dean's offer to help was only as a means to get a job. Nothing more. 

But that’s not entirely true, and completely unfair to Dean’s character. 

During their too brief time together, Dean showed himself to be a kind, bright, considerate, humble, and basically, all around good guy. That he’s also the most breathtakingly stunning man Castiel has ever laid his eyes upon, is beside the point, and frankly, irrelevant. 

What is relevant, however, and pains Castiel the most, is how well they got along. How easily and effortlessly they clicked. It’s as if he and Dean had known each other for years, rather than hours. As if they had been through battles together, fought for each other, sacrificed and saved the other, over and over, just like family or partners would. Just like lovers would.

Castiel staggers from the weight of this revelation and stumbles from its impact, feet tripping clumsily as he reaches out for his desk, knuckles bone-white where they grip the weathered edge.

“Damnit! Why?”

Yes, why did Dean have to be everything Castiel didn’t know he was missing? The one person for whom he’s longed, the one being for whom he’s ached. Why show up now – charge straight into Castiel’s life, spin his world off its axis, knock the breath from his lungs, and the common sense from his brain – only to belong to another?

To his nemesis, no less. 

“God,” Castiel groans, frustration making his voice gruff and his mood darkens, “just why…why send him to me only to…to deny…” his words fade when his breath hitches, he needs to get himself under control. He takes a deep breath, determined to finish getting ready for the upcoming day’s work.

He takes a seat and opens his lab-top, then logs on to answer his e-mails. He needs a distraction. Later, when the dozen or so new recruits arrive and his attention is pulled in a hundred different directions, it will be marginally easier to ignore the disturbing hollowness currently settling in his gut. But for now, replying to the mundane and routine, will have to do.

Or so he thought.

**From: trixter69@gmail.com  
Remember, I get dibs on throwing you a bachelor party! And, you’re welcome! ~_^**

Castiel’s head drops, chin bumping against his sternum. This is the last thing he needed. Gabriel reminding him of what he just lost. Okay, so Dean was never technically his to lose, but for a moment there, Castiel felt…hopeful. And happy, although Castiel never thought he was unhappy, not until he met Dean.

**From: chief_ors.cmilton@gmail.com  
Sorry to ruin your plans, but there will be no wedding.**

**From: trixter69@gmail.com  
The hell went wrong???? I thought you two would be on your third orgasm by now! The kid was srsly into you!!! Christ, do I have to do everything?**

Castiel knows Gabriel means well, but his words sting nonetheless; they hit too close to home. And for that reason, Castiel forgets himself and replies with the following.

**From: chief_ors.cmilton@gmail.com  
Gabriel, for one thing, I never asked for your help or your input in regards to my love life. And secondly, after what I’ve just been through, thanks in no small part to your ‘help’, I now seriously regret sharing with you the fact that I am finally in a place in my life where I am ready for a romantic relationship. In the future, please don’t confuse my candor with permission to meddle in my affairs.**

He hits send before he can talk himself out of it, but instantly regrets it. Gabriel has always been a good brother and a great friend, his best actually. Castiel would be even more socially inept if it weren’t for him.

But he’s too upset to apologize, still feeling too raw with regret to shake himself loose from this dizzying funk in which he’s hopelessly sinking. And to make matters worse (thanks again, Gabe) his thoughts turn back to Dean – not that they ever completely left him, in the first place.

_Damn it, Dean!_

Castiel’s immediate attraction was bad enough, although completely understandable; he's never felt so drawn to someone he's just met, ever. But when Dean – a dashing and brash, yet simultaneously shy and modest young man – bravely shared his life story with him, it was all Castiel could do to keep from dropping to his knees and proposing marriage on the spot. 

Dean’s tragic past called out to Castiel’s soul, but it was Dean’s deeds that claimed his heart.

Castiel never had a chance.

…

"Yo, Dean!"

Dean looks up at the sound of his name, then gracefully hops up from a plank position to look for the source. It's Jo. "You gotta be kidding me!" He hollers back. "They seriously accepted your application?" He's teasing, of course. At 5' 2" and weighing all of one hundred pounds (soaking wet) Jo Harvelle, his boss' daughter and all around pain in his ass, can easily out muscle Dean.

"Me?" She shoots right back, jogging up to join him. "The real question, Winchester, is how on earth you got Bobby to give you the day off?"

Dean winces at the reminder, he hates missing work, hates not being there for Bobby, but if he manages to get a job here today, well then, it’ll have been worth the sacrifice.

“Hmpht,” he snorts, “probably the same reason Ellen let you take the day.” He counters, knowing he’s hit his mark when she reels back in mock-horror. Ellen always hoped Jo would take ownership of the family restaurant, someday. 

“Oh…you’re gonna pay for that.” She warns, and it's game on.

They take a minute to size each other up, arms poised to block blows, backs hunched, dancing in circles, but it's mostly for show. They feign, then surge, carelessly toss out slurs, jibes, threats, they try to intimidate, to spook, but it's all an act, a game they've been playing since they were children. And when one of them finally strikes (neither certain who moved first) it's not long before Jo has Dean in a head-lock and only seconds later that Dean has her flat on her back.

“Give, Harvelle!” Dean grits through his teeth, only to topple over from a knee to his ribs.

They're back on their feet, grappling, sparing, each carefully pulling their punches, they’ve been doing this for years. Then Dean has the upper hand, but only to have his feet knocked out from beneath him by one of Jo’s well-timed ‘feet swipes’, a specialty of hers.

“Say it!” Jo snarls, her tiny body pinning him down, teeth clenched while struggling to maintain her hold.

“Ngh-“

“Come on-”

“Mph-ncle!” Dean spits.

“What was that?” She taunts. “Gonna have to speak up!”

“Geeze, fine…umph” Dean’s thighs spread uncomfortably wide from Jo’s weight on his lower back, arms pinned at an awkward angle. “Uncle, for chrissakes!”

When the pressure finally loosens, Dean immediately rolls over and gives her the finger. 

“Awww…don’t be a sore loser, Dean.” She laughs, dusting the sand from her legs then nimbly jumping back in order to avoid a poorly aimed kick.

“Whoa, Dean, you getting your ass handed to you by this exceptionally lovely and gracious lady?”

“Argh!” Dean groans, eyes rolling dramatically to the back of his head. “Benny, I’m begging you, man, it’s too early in the morning for your gross love!”

Benny laughs, a soft, happy, chuckle at Dean’s expense, then apologizes. “Sorry, brotha, didn’t mean to offend your delicate sensibilities.”

“Yeah, yeah, real freakin funny.” Dean throws his friend a glare for good measure then grimaces, “Just…ewww, don’t, okay. Jo’s like my sister.”

But that just makes Benny laugh harder. So instead of suppressing his mirth, he strides closer to the warring duo, grabs Jo around the waist, and swings her from Dean’s side. “Come here, darlin.’ He grunts, easily twirling his girlfriend around and around, “I think you’ve caused enough damage for today.”

Jo yelps, but it’s with delight, she loves when her boyfriend man-handles her. “Bear! Quit it!” she protests, lightly punching Benny with a barrage of tiny fists. “Put me down, now!” she orders, but the ‘or else’ menace in her tone only makes Benny hold on to her that much tighter.

“Honey,” she whines, all pretense of her former irritation, dropped. She wraps her arms tightly around his neck and with a playful kiss to his nose, asks, “You came to cheer me on?”

Benny takes advantage of their position and kisses her back, but on the lips. “What kind of scoundrel do you take me for?” he asks, mock offense making Jo snort. “Of course I’m here to cheer you on.”

“Ah, guys, remember what I said earlier about being gross? Well, this-“ Dean gestures between the two with a sweep of his arm, “is just, bleh!”

“You’re just jealous of our love.” Jo sing-songs, sticking her tongue out to poke fun at Dean.

And, fuck, Dean almost flinches; the truth of her words hurt, like a motherfucker. “Hmpht, yeah, you wish.” He throws back, dropping down to do a set of pushups, he's in no mood for the inevitable awkward eye contact, or God forbid, their pity.

“Hey, don’t be that way.” Jo tells him, dropping her voice in pity. 

_Fuck_

She raises her head and scans the immediate area, pursed lips growing into a large smile when she spots her target. She saunters closer to Dean, mindful to keep her voice low and says, “My friend Lisa’s here.”

Dean doesn't reply so much as grunt noncommittally. He has zero interest in any body Jo wants him to meet. Again, he does not want her pity. 

“Come on Dean…quit pouting!” Dean ignores her, but it only makes her more determined. She feels like a dick and wants to apologize, so she leans in closer, bends at the waist, “Look, I didn’t mean-“ she starts, but the apology gets cut short when Benny points to a small group of lifeguards that walk onto the beach. 

“Dean! Hey, look!” Jo hisses, but gets no response. She abandons his side and rushes to grab her gear. “Yo!” she yells, nudging him with the toe of her sneaker. “Get in line, dummy!” She warns, then zips up her windbreaker, blows Benny one last kiss, and turns to face a fast approaching instructor. “Dean!”

“Jesus, what?” Dean snaps back, voice tight with frustration, but nonetheless hops up to see what she wants. “Jo, dude, I’m right here.” He says sharply, but he's more annoyed with himself than with his friend. "No need to yell,” he says, back facing the gathering group, oblivious to one particular Ocean Rescue Chief, that’s almost upon him. “Jesus, you’re gonna have everybody looking at us with the way your wailing. What-“

“Hello Dean.”

...

It’s still technically early, but Alistair’s been at the beach for hours now. Hell, most of the night, if you want to get technical; he never went home the previous day. No, after a particularly nasty 'quarrel' with Castiel, there was simply no way he could bear going back to an empty house. 

He blames himself, really, if he hadn't lost control of the situation so spectacularly, the fight could have been avoided. But he was hungry and his hunger made him careless – their clash, inevitable. 

Confronting Castiel was a huge mistake on his part, but he's learned his lesson well, and will tread much more carefully, going forward. 

And as for Dean, well, letting him get away was definitely a mistake – the second one of that evening – but it's not too late to rectify that particular error. 

**The previous night:**

The day had been especially challenging, largely due to Castiel’s constant nagging and his infuriating interference; the man seemed to pop out of nowhere at the most inconvenient times. So after his shift ended (and in dire need of some serious stress relief) Alistair went in search of some fun, seeking the kind of satisfaction that only the sound of ‘skin slapping wetly against skin’, would provide. 

And for that, he would need the company of his newest protégé. 

Alistair finally located him in Castiel’s watch-tower. The two men were alone in the small room, backs to him, but standing far too close and whispering far too intimately, for his liking. “Of course…Castiel.” Alistair bristled at the sight, anger surging because his boy – his hard earned property – was meeting privately with his enemy. He felt threatened, humiliated, and with each passing second, more and more convinced that Castiel was slandering his good name. 

Alistair had had enough, and stormed in. 

Both men startled and jumped apart. They claimed they were working, but Alistair just snorted at the blatant lie. He spat out a curse and charged at the duo, not caring that his violent reaction was completely uncalled for and woefully ill timed.

He pulled the boy forcibly from Castiel’s side, grabbed him by the throat, then stupidly incriminated himself further when he let slip his true intentions (to fuck obedience into him, wreak and destroy his hole, leaving no doubt to whom he belonged). But Castiel retaliated, much more violently than Alistair would have thought him capable, and fought back. 

He yanked the young recruit free from Alistair’s grasp, blocked him with his larger body, then shoved Alistair out of the way. Alistair stumbled, lost his footing, and fell. But Castiel was far from done. He advanced on Alistair, loomed threateningly over his slumped figure, growled threats, hauled him to his feet, then threw him out. 

Alistair staggered, but managed not to fall a second time. He gaped at Castiel, stunned by the outcome, jaw slack in disbelief, then snapping it shut when the reality of the scene hit him.

He'd lost. Spectacularly.

_How did this happen?_ He wondered, unsure when the tide had turned in Castiel’s favor.

"That boy is mine. He belongs to me until I say he's doesn't” Alistair shouted his claim, livid with his apprentice, but even more horrified by his own lack of self-control.

"I'm the one in charge, here, Castiel. Not you! I’m his boss and his superior in every way that matters. How dare you challenge my authority, you sanctimonious little shit!”

Alistair was furious, his mind unable to comprehend a world where Castiel got the upper hand, his thoughts a chorus of outraged voices, each one louder than the other, and all clamoring to be heard. 

Castiel stared on in horror, in disgust, and took a step forward, hands clenched tightly at his sides. “You forget yourself, Alistair, technically, I am your boss.” 

But the warning went right over Alistair’s head. His eyes glazed over, he took several deeps breaths, it was obvious that he was losing his mind, becoming even more unhinged, but thanks to the cool blankness of his gaze, no one was the wiser. “Perhaps I overreacted.” He said simply, eyes clearing, pulling off an apologetic half-shrug from the safety of the door. “And I promise,” he added, feigning remorse for his massive blunder, “that this will never happen again.” 

He then looked around the room, noticed that his trainee had vanished (presumably to get help) politely excused himself, and left. 

He had no other option, really, even though the overwhelming urge to snap Castiel’s bones, tear at his flesh, fuck him raw, and bathe in his blood, thoroughly consumed him, Alistair had to walk away. 

But he made himself a promise that day: that sooner or later, come hell or high-water, he would have his revenge, and when Castiel least expected it, he would ‘teach’ the O.R.S.’s arrogant Chief, the proper way to show him respect.

...

Mere moments later, Alistair arrived at the Roadhouse restaurant. He walked in, ignored the pretty hostess at the front, strode confidentialy past the other diners, and with a very specific goal in mind – to get his hands on Dean, the handsome young bartender on duty that night – headed straight towards the bar.

Alistair had been hopelessly obsessed with Dean for years, more than two decades at least, ever since he first held him in his arms. And ever since that first horrific night, he'd kept a close eye on the boy: on his upbringing, on what schools he attended, he even went as far as jotting down the various addresses Dean's useless father relocated them to, after suffering the loss of their mother. 

Alistair disliked John Winchester, a great deal, wished that he had also perished that night. And as far as he was concerned, John might as well have; his subsequent downward spiral and neglect of his two boys, left them no better off, than a couple of orphans. But it's when John selfishly moved his family far from the area, that Alistair's dislike, turned into actual hate. 

Alistair was a wreck those first few days. He even contemplated tracking them down, wrenching Dean free from his pathetic little family, and raising the boy himself. He would then be free to mold Dean, to shape and to carve him, to create the perfect animal, to groom him into the perfect soldier; a perfect reflection of himself.

Yes, the idea of kidnapping Dean had great appeal. But in the end, Alistair decided against it. Dean was not 'training fodder', after all. On the contrary, even though Alistair lamented losing sight of him for all of those years, he didn't despair. Instead, he took advantage of that lost time and used it to hone his craft, to perfect his techniques, and to prepare for the day he'd introduce Dean to his rack. He knew he'd see him again.

And he was rght.

The years flew by, and Dean moved back, and this time, Alistair wasn't gong to let him get away. 

...

“Oh, Dean!” 

Alistair spotted Dean behind the bar, and called out to him. 

“Ah, Dean?”

It bothered Alistair that Dean didn't remember him, that he didn't recall their first fateful meeting. But Alistair is a patient man, he'd already waited twenty years for Dean, so what's a few more days? 

“Dean?”

Alistair propped himself up against the bar's edge, drank in the long expanse of Dean's body, and grew hard in his pants. _Yes, Dean is definitely worth a few more days._

“Dean!” Alistair coughed loudly into his clenched fist, finally catching Dean’s attention. “So wonderful to see you again.” He hollered, grinning widely and throwing his arms open in invitation.

Oh, sorry.” Dean apologized, keeping his distance. “Loud in here, didn't hear you.”

Alistair dropped his arms, but continued smiling; he's a patient man.

...

They shared pleasantries for a short while, Dean poured Alistair a drink, wiped down the counter, catered to the other patrons, while Alistair, subdued, yet flirtatious, kept him company. But no matter how hard Alistair insisted on a date with the much younger man, that evening ended like every other night Alistair had visited the bar: with Dean politely shrugging him off and casually dodging all of his attempts at seduction. 

Dean’s rejection angered Alistair, but unlike his earlier confrontation with Castiel, he was careful not to show it. He was affable and all smiles (forced, large, and shark-like) graciously accepted Dean’s rebuffs, and assured him that there were no hard feelings. 

But he was still hungry, still needy, and even though he continued conversing good-naturedly throughout the rest of the evening, Alistair’s patience was nearly at an end. 

He waited until an appropriate amount of time had passed before getting up to go, made sure that Dean noticed the exuberantly large tip he left behind for his untouched beer, and left.

But leaving without Dean was a mistake, a huge one. The consequences of which would soon be evident. 

...

The encounter with Dean left Alistair more frustrated than ever, more wound up and on edge. So instead of finally heading home, Alistair paid a visit to 'The Pit', Santa Monica’s most exclusive, and notorious, S&M club. He only stayed for a short while, but still long enough to score a suitable partner, negotiate terms (as per the club’s rules) tether his night’s prey to his ‘rack’, and use him until his desires were thoroughly satiated. 

That was the plan, anyway — to indulge in the services of a temporary partner until he could get his hands on Dean. But in the end, and because of the club’s laughable regulations, tedious rules, and ridiculous waivers, he could barely savor any real satisfaction. And despite each successive pulse from his cock – his release spilling uselessly into a condom the club forced him to wear – Alistair was still unable to forget the previous day’s failures. 

But that was the least of his troubles; Alistair needed to be cautious, too. He was getting his entertainment from a bought boy at the club, instead of a trainee in the safety of his own ‘home’. It was therefore imperative he stay in control during their session; he dared not risk causing serious injury or inflicting permanent damage. He didn't want to be banned, again. 

Still, the outing wasn’t a complete disappointment; the boy he solicited was willing enough. And with the cell’s lights dimmed just so, Alistair was able to pretend (for a few precious moments, at least) that the luscious, wounded, creature, arching away from the crack of his crop, was Dean, the one being he truly desired. 

_Oh, Dean…_

Alistair had never wanted another partner as badly as he wanted Dean. Well, at least not since he came to terms with the fact that he could never have Castiel. 

Oh yes, Alistair has always been a little ‘in love’ with Castiel. His feelings for him run decades long and core deep, like a physical ache or a ravenous hunger. Yet, despite the fact that Castiel has always struggled with self-doubt and shame, he is ultimately headstrong and steadfast, always has been. He also despises Alistair. So no, Castiel was never an option, he would have been impossible to dominate.

Unlike Dean. 

...

**Earlier this morning:**

Alistair left the club and was back at the beach (hiding in his office) two hours later, still on edge, still frustrated, despite the previous night’s festivities. In the end, the whole endeavor proved more exhausting than exhilarating, and the bought-boy’s services, nothing but a poor substitute for the kind of ‘release’ he knows only Dean’s flesh will provide. 

It's the reason he's so excited about this season’s tryouts, because Dean is finally applying for a position. And if Alistair has any say on the matter (which luckily for him, he does) Dean will not only get drafted, but also get a guaranteed spot on his team. And as long as everything goes according plan and everybody sticks to their roles, by the end of the sorting ceremony, Alistair will be escorting a very grateful Dean, back to his real home; he's certain Dean will want to personally thank his ‘new boss’ for naming him this season’s, ‘top-pick’. 

"Fuck-" Alistair groaned out loud in the tiny enclosed space, palming at the growing tent in his shorts, hard and ready to spill mere minutes into his twisted fantasy. But who could blame him? Picturing a submissive Dean, flat on his back, groveling on his rack, with his legs spread wide, pleading for mercy, begging for his dick, and absolutely loving all of it? It's more than a sane man could take, let alone a lunatic, such as Alistair.

“Damn it-“ he cursed and unzipped his fly, freeing himself. He fucked into his fist and grunted, the sound loud and ugly, the act, lewd and disturbing, and so wrapped up in his delusions, that he nearly missed the sudden appearance of a man lurking suspiciously along the boardwalk.

“What’s this?” He hissed, dropping his dick and tearing at his desk drawer. He pulled out his night vision binoculars, and trained them on the lone figure lumbering down the pier’s steps. “It can't be-“ 

_Dean_

Alistair briefly wondered about his presence there, but then quickly surmised that Dean was there to apologize for his earlier behavior. “He's here to apologize.” 

That had to be it. It was the only plausible reason Dean would be there. Especially at that hour. It was the only conclusion that made sense. 

Alistair gave himself a few more half-hearted tugs, then tucked himself away, not an easy task when the sight of Dean had him thickening further. He raced for the door, eager to get to Dean and accept his apology – maybe he'd let Dean make it up to him with a blow-job – but then the sight of another man running towards Dean, stopped Alistair in his tracks. 

_Castiel!_

It was still dark out, but Alistair could easily identify Castiel’s enviable runner’s body; he'd masturbated enough times to that body, to recognize it anywhere.

Castiel was running at a steady clip, and from where he was standing, Alistair could tell the Chief would soon be upon Dean.

“No!” Alistair cried out; of course his carefully laid plans would be thwarted, yet again, by his meddlesome coworker. 

He had to act fast, he needed to reach Dean first, but instead of storming out and confronting them, Alistair paused, and took stock of the situation. Maybe they wouldn't notice each other. Maybe Castiel would keep running, pass without pausing, and completely miss Dean. 

It seemed likely, too, especially when Castiel ran right past Dean’s hiding spot, slowed briefly to undress, then jumped right into the ocean.

This is it! Alistair’s only chance to run out and get to Dean. He turned back to the door, unlatched the lock, grabbed the nob, was about to pull it open, when he spotted yet another body making its way towards the shore. 

_Gabriel!_

“What in the hell is he doing here?” But Alistair didn't have to wonder long. Castiel resurfaced after a quick swim and was joined by Gabriel, a minute later. 

They chatted, laughed, goofed around (at least Gabriel did) for a long while, but neither noticed Dean. 

Alistair grew bored after a short time and yawned, eyes heavy with fatigue. Spying on the pair was dull work, but their ignorance was a great relief to him; both men were oblivious to Dean’s presence, and Dean seemed content to remain hidden. 

But his relief was short lived. “No-“ He yelled, blood pressure spiking to dangerous levels when he realized Gabriel’s ridiculous arm waving wasn't dancing at all, but a way to get Dean’s attention.

The pressure to intervene weighed heavily on Alistair, but he still did nothing, Dean had made no move to join the brothers, seemed like he didn't even register Gabriel’s invitation. But then Gabriel put two fingers into his mouth, and the blare of a loud, obnoxious, whistle, cut right though the pre-dawn quiet.

This was getting ridiculous. 

...

**Now:**

It's only been an hour since Castiel retired to Gabriel’s tower, a mere blip in time since he left Dean to puzzle over their encounter.

Alistair wondered what had happened. After a solid hour of blatant flirtation between the two, Castiel stormed off. “What did you do, Dean?”

Alistair didn't need to hear their conversation to know the extent of their initial attraction. It was obvious to anybody with eyes: from all of the unnecessary touching, to the way their bodies would lean towards the other when they were meters apart (especially then). But it was when they would pause in their tasks, drop whatever they were doing to simply stare into each other's eyes, that Alistair truly worried. 

But then another miracle happened. Dean – beautiful, pathetic, damaged beyond repair, Dean – pissed off a clearly interested Castiel. Not that offending that uptight little bitch would have been too difficult, but that Castiel showed any interest in the first place, was a god damn miracle. 

Nevertheless, Alistair exhaled a sigh of relief, pleased with the outcome.

...

Alistair sits back and lazily fondles himself while watching Dean warm up. He's still in his office, comfortable in his private tower, when he notices movement in his periphery, and pauses. 

It's Castiel, and he's walking straight towards Dean. Alistair notes the look of pure determination on the Chief’s face, it's both daunting and pathetic; Alistair doesn't the like it one bit. 

“What are you up to now, Castiel?” But Alistair knows perfectly well what's about to take place. “Oh, no you don't. Not again.” Alistair panics, and it only gets worse with each purposeful step Castiel takes towards his target. 

“Not so fast, Castiel.” It's a warning; Alistair will put up with a lot of Castiel’s bullshit, but he draws the line where Dean is concerned. He's not going to take any more chances. Not when Dean is the prize. It's time to act and put an end to Castiel’s dangerous involvement. 

Alistair is done waiting


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They're several yards away from the crowd now, but Castiel doesn’t stop to see if Dean is following him, or not. He can't, he’s too nervous, too anxious, and downright terrified the damage he’s already caused to their fledgling friendship, may be too irreparable to salvage. But when he reaches the pier’s wooden landing and finds Dean standing right by his side, he grins. But his smile immediately falters; the thin, angry, line of Dean’s lips, promises little, to no, forgiveness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would love to know what you think so far.  
> Again, I suck at editing. Apologies for typos, crappy grammar, blah, blah, blah...

“Hello Dean.”

“What?” Dean snaps, gruff and rude, fed up with his friends' bullshit. He spins where he stands, scathing retort on the tip of his tongue, ready to tear both Jo and Benny a brand new ass-hole, when the wind gets knocked out of him. 

_Castiel_

“The hell do you want?” He snarls then takes a large step back, pissed that he was caught off guard. He never expected Castiel to approach him again, let alone acknowledge that they even know each other (especially after their earlier fiasco) and reacts aggressively. He hears a sharp intake of breath from behind, probably Jo’s, and realizes his mistake. “I ah, m’sorry, I guess.” He apologizes, though grudgingly, then smiles, but it's so forced and painful to behold, Castiel winces. 

“What can I do for you, man?” Dean knows he’s fucked up and needs to do some serious damage control, but fails; his tone is still too harsh and his stance, full of menace. “Well?”

“Whoa, there Dean,” Jo can't believe how stupidly he's acting, “way to make a good first impression.” 

It's Castiel’s turn to startle. 

He turns sharply at the sound of Jo’s voice, spots her hovering just past Dean’s shoulder, and stares, mouth opening in a surprised ‘O’. “Hello.” He says stiffly, nodding a greeting to Benny as well, then points out, “I see you're all getting ready for the tryouts.” He’s a nervous wreck, made more so simply by being in Dean’s presence, but nevertheless grateful the steadiness of his tone, doesn't belie how he truly feels.

“That's good.” He offers, deceptively calm and composed, though feeling more and more like a prize idiot with each passing second. “I didn't mean to interrupt your warm up." He adds, quickly changing the subject when the weight of their scrutiny becomes more than he can bear. "But, I need to borrow Dean.” 

And without waiting for any sort of acknowledgment, Castiel gives Jo and Benny another sharp nod, and turns his focus back on Dean. “Dean, I-“ He starts, but gets no further. Nor does he wish to, not with the large group of trainees slowly closing in on them – their watchful eyes following his every move. 

He can't do this here. He needs to get Dean alone. 

So he leans in closer, insides clenching painfully when Dean draws slightly away from him, and asks, “…may I have a word?” 

“Yeah.” Dean replies, brusque, unimpressed, pinning Castiel with a thunderous glare, then snorts, “Why the hell not?” He adds an indifferent shrug to mask his building confusion, looks over his shoulder, spots Jo and Benny shuffling nervously nearby, and says, “I’ll be right back.” Then gestures for Castiel to lead the way.

Castiel exhales in relief, he’ll take what he can get, and at Dean’s signal, turns and starts making his way towards the boardwalk.

It’s a long trek there, made even longer by the equipment they set-up earlier. Nevertheless, Castiel easily steers them through the maze, weaves them smoothly around the still growing group of hopeful recruits, and guides them well out of his coworker’s earshot; he's not ready to face their scrutiny, let alone Gabriel’s ridicule, or Meg’s jealousy. He'll deal with the fallout later.

They're several yards away from the crowd now, but Castiel doesn’t stop to see if Dean is following him, or not. He can't, he’s too nervous, too anxious, and downright terrified the damage he’s already caused to their fledgling friendship, may be too irreparable to salvage. But when he reaches the pier’s wooden landing and finds Dean standing right by his side, he grins. But his smile immediately falters; the thin, angry, line of Dean’s lips, promises little, to no, forgiveness.

"Dean,” Castiel sighs, low and defeated, he pinches the bridge of his nose then coughs into his closed fist. He's having second thoughts, unsure if he should push forward, or not, “I wanted to apologize for my earlier behavior.” The apology is stilted, yet surprisingly steady, considering how wretched he feels on the inside. But he bravely plows on, desperate to set things right again between them. “I just...it was... I was rude and you didn't deserve that. I'm sorry.” 

Castiel grimaces, it’s not what he wanted to say, or even how he wanted to sound: jittery and blundering, like a complete idiot. And from the look on Dean’s face (angry creases cutting across his youthful brow, harsh lines bracketing a disapproving scowl) it looks like he's only making matters worse.

Castiel is way out of his comfort zone, here, and seriously considers aborting. Maybe he’ll just tell Dean that the only reason he asked him aside, was so that he could wish him good luck. The sentiment would be mostly true. Okay, maybe more like half…no, alright, more like only a quarter true. But still believable. And once he convinces Dean he means no ill will, he'll be free to flee back to the relative safety of his office. Like the loathsome coward that he is.

_Damn it._

Castiel drops his eyes for a moment and takes a deep breath. He needs to center himself, remember who he is, what he does, and what his goals are. Being a coward, is nowhere on that list. 

Castiel gives it another try. “Is there…I mean, do you think you could forgive me?” He's humbling himself, figuratively baring his throat to Dean, hoping the younger man accepts his ‘olive-branch’, and let's go of his grudge so they can start over. 

But it’s all for naught; Dean’s not done being angry. Far from it, in fact. But Dean is smart, as he is proud. So he grits his teeth and forces a smile. It’s strained and never reaches his eyes, but he’s willing to forgive and forget, to be the bigger person here, not for Castiel’s sake, but for his family’s. Dean’s not foolish enough to completely alienate one of the judges, he still has his eye on the prize. 

So he’ll play nice (no skin off his nose, right?) and accept Castiel’s weak-ass apology. Besides, it's not like Dean’s feelings got hurt by the guy’s rejection. Or what Castiel said earlier cut him to the quick. It's not like Dean’s heart got fucking crushed when Castiel did a complete one-eighty on him, went from coming onto him like a force of nature (intense and unstoppable) to being brutally indifferent. 

And it's not like Dean's actually going to forgive him. _Oh, fuck no._

But then again…

Dean pauses, wonders if perhaps he’s the one that should be apologizing. 

_Why the hell am I acting so pissy? Seriously, when the hell did I become so friggin touchy? Or so damn sensitive?_

This isn't Dean, he doesn't react like this. To anyone. Ever. 

“Look,” he finally replies, cutting Castiel off just as he was about to go into another long stream of apologies, “don’t sweat it, okay." Dean’s voice loses its edge and his tone softens, helpless against Castiel’s baby-blues. “No biggie, man." He adds another shrug. "Nothing to be sorry about, okay, no worries. I know you're busy with paper work and...whatever else you get up to in your ivory tower.” He chuckles softly, trying to lighten the mood, but it falls flat; the obvious tension in his shoulders betrays the casualness he's working so hard to project. “Last thing you probably needed was to babysit my sorry ass.

He falls silent, bobs his head, mutters, “So, ah, we're good, okay.” But it's not a question, Dean’s having second thoughts too, and God help him, he wants to give Castiel the benefit of the doubt. "And, um…” he huffs, fists balled up and stuffed into his short’s pockets, “I ah, guess I'll be seeing you around, then. Or I mean, you'll be seeing me, I suppose, in the tryouts. Yeah, d’uh, right? Of course you'll be there, I mean you work here and I'm gonna be here too, so…” 

Dean could kick himself, he was doing so well (keeping his cool against Castiel’s stupidly attractive face, is not an easy feat) but then he totally lost it all: the upper-hand, the higher ground, all gone. He can't even look at Castiel, now; he's too embarrassed and too afraid of the disdain he’ll find looking back at him, if he does.

Both men fall silent for a beat and the tension builds, Dean fidgets, Castiel stands statute-still, both unsure how to proceed, or if they even want to. 

Dean definitely doesn't. But his fear of losing _whateverthehell_ it is he and Castiel have together, outweighs his cowardice. So he steels himself for a confrontation, digs deep down for a smidgen of courage, when he senses, rather than sees, Castiel inch closer.

"Dean,” Castiel says, unsure and hesitant, taking another step despite his caution, “I'm truly sorry for the way I acted,” he’s pleading, throat clicking around a dry swallow, still moving forward until the tips of his sneakers enter Dean’s field of vision, “and for the things I said.” The apology is lame and he knows it, but there's nothing more he can add that will excuse how unfairly he treated Dean. Nevertheless, he presses on. 

“I...maybe later, after we're done with the tests, and if you're not too tired, of course, would you like to go out for some coffee? With me?”

For an insane second Dean actually considers snapping back with an angry reply, suggest to Castiel that he fuck-off and drop dead, and forget that they ever met. But sadly, the opposite is true; Dean would love nothing more than to go out with the Chief. 

_Aw, fuck it._

Dean nods his consent, feeling both heavier and lighter for his decision, though unsure if it's from relief or panic. So he nods again, sharp and decisive this time, he’s going to accept Castiel’s apology, get over his damn hurt feelings, and not give a fuck over the consequences. 

“Cas, I would lo-“ he starts, head tipped low enough so that he can look up at Castiel through the long curl of his lashes, but stopping mid-word when the weight of a large hand settles possessively on his arm. 

"Dean."

_Alistair!_

…

“I'm glad you… _came_.” Alistair says, the remark dripping with innuendo. He presses his hip suggestively against the firm curve of Dean’s ass and coos, _fucking coos_ , right against Dean’s neck, “It pleases me that you accepted my invitation." It makes Dean want to scrub himself raw.

Normally, in a situation like this (yes, sadly, Dean is no stranger to this sort of harassment) Dean would beat his assailant to a bloody pulp. But a small voice inside his head, the one that always takes his self-preservation into consideration first, tells him to hold still and carefully assess the situation, before reacting. 

So Dean counts to ten and weighs his options. 

On the one hand, he would love nothing more than to beat the ever-loving-shit out of Alistair – the guy totally has it coming. Dean’s certain the scumbag interrupted what was sure to be an emotional reconciliation between himself, and the clearly repentant, Castiel. 

_Seriously, who the hell does Alistair think he is? And who gave him permission to touch me? It's gross and I don't need to take it. I mean, just because he saved me and Sammy’s life…_

Oh yeah, that's where the ‘other hand’, comes in. It's also where things get tricky, and Dean needs to tread lightly. 

He owes Alistair. Big time.

It's a documented fact, Alistair rescued his and Sam’s life. Their father’s life too, for that matter. And for those reasons alone, Dean can never repay him enough. 

_Ah, fuck, I owe him._

Dean’s shoulders sag when he reaches his conclusion, stomach nauseated by the choice he's about to make. 

“Hey there, Alistair.” Dean’s tone is resigned, downcast. “Fancy meeting you here.” He keeps his eyes averted and his head facing forward, but acts as friendly as can be. “What's up?” He asks, forcing a smile that's too bright to be sincere. “I'm ah…I'm really glad to see you.” He’s lying, of course, and so unnerved by Alistair’s touch, that he doesn't notice, or just plain ignores, the low threatening growl coming from Castiel’s direction. 

But Alistair does notice; he hears and sees everything, in blinding clarity. Yet, despite of the implied challenge, he chooses to ignore Castiel. Not because he’s ignorant to Castiel’s hostility, no, Castiel’s dislike for him is hard to miss – it’s written all over the stiff line of his shoulders and the dangerous narrowing of his eyes. 

If anything, it's Castiel’s pathetic display of jealousy that amuses Alistair. That he also loves watching Castiel seethe in righteous indignation over his implied intimacy with Dean, goes unsaid. And besides, the timing isn't right, he’s not ready to outright mock Castiel for his stupidity. Not yet, at least. 

“I apologize for not greeting you personally when you first arrived,” he tells Dean, pushing his hip closer, pressing his semi-erection deeper, inhaling Dean’s fear; the boy’s proximity is making it extremely difficult for the veteran lifeguard to focus on anything, or anyone else. 

He inhales, exhales, steals another lungful of Dean’s scent, then whisper-exhales, “Are you ready for me?” His tone is seductive, his eyes heavy-lidded, and because he knows it will piss Castiel off even more, settles his arm, ever so slowly, across the broad expanse of Dean’s shoulders. 

That sets Dean on alert. Alistair’s lewdness, his nearness, his disgusting comments, his dick pressing indecently against his ass. It rattles Dean, makes him want to run, makes him want to fight back, but he holds still. “Ready for what?” He asks, trying to keep his words even, trying not to scream, not daring to breathe; the foul stench of Alistair’s breath is way too close to his cheek. 

Alistair grins, delighting in Dean’s discomfort, in his attempts to stall the inevitable, in his terrible acting. But when Dean dares cringe from his touch, then insults him further by shifting and tilting his body towards Castiel (like a flower chasing the sun’s light) it's all Alistair can do to keep from bashing his brains in.

“Oh, Dean, Dean, Dean.” Alistair tuts, displeased, but not really worried. He knows that soon, maybe even as soon as tonight, Dean will fall in line with his new role and happily do Alistair’s bidding. Even if it kills him. 

Alistair shakes his head a few more times, tsks a bit more, and sighs his disappointment, as if greatly pained by Dean’s dimness. “Are you ready to get started, of course. What else could I mean?” Then, leaving no room for doubt to his real intentions, pulls Dean closer, and whispers, “So, shall we?” 

“Shall we what? I mean, what? Like, you wanna go... now?” Dean chokes on his words, trying to keep his panic at bay.

Alistair takes another a deep breath, hopes his dwindling patience is enough to get him through this tedious back and forth, and adds, “For the tests I have planned for you…I mean, for all of the trainees.” He corrects, grinning beatifically; it's terrifying. 

“Oh come now, Dean,” Alistair squeezes Dean’s shoulder and pulls him closer, no longer bothering to mask his contempt. It's exhausting, “cat got your tongue?” He searches Dean’s face for a reaction, then after a beat, and unwilling to endure anymore of Dean’s stupidity, sneers, “I see you need a minute to think it over. Take it,” he offers meanly, “take two.” He licks his thin lips, hisses, “Good.” Then turns to Castiel.

“Castiel,” he states brightly, saccharine sweet, “I see you've met, Dean." 

Castiel bristles but keeps his temper in check, hands clenching painfully at his sides.

“Thank you for looking after him for me. I do hope he wasn't too much trouble.” 

Castiel grits his teeth, but holds his tongue. He silently wonders if Alistair recognizes Dean, if he realizes that Dean is one of the two boys Castiel rescued that night. The night all of their lives changed forever, the night Castiel let Alistair take credit for his heroism, and Michael, the blame for Mary’s death. 

“Alistair.” He nods, polite. It's no secret Castiel finds Alistair abhorrent (a repugnant and loathsome creature that grates irritatingly at his already frayed nerves) but for Dean's sake, he does his best to be civil.

Alistair chuckles, ignores the smoke coming out of Castiel’s ears, and winks in return; he really is enjoying himself. 

“It was no trouble at all.” Castiel admits, catching Dean’s eye. “On the contrary, I enjoyed Dean’s company. Very much.” The remark wipes the smug smile from Alistair’s face and Castiel has to bite his tongue to keep from provoking him further; he knows he's playing with fire and needs to keep himself in check. This sort of behavior goes against every single one of Castiel’s ingrained instincts: to fight for what he believes is right and true. But first things first, he needs to find out exactly how much Alistair recalls, and just how ‘close’ he and Dean truly are, before he lets his fists fly. 

But it's easier said than done, tolerating Alistair’s taunts while watching Dean get groped, is more than he can bear. Castiel has to call on every bit of self-control he can muster, just to keep himself from beating Alistair’s hateful face into a bloody pulp. 

_Why is Dean even allowing this?_ Castiel wonders. It's puzzling, to be sure, but it's Dean’s naïveté that Castiel finds most upsetting. 

_How could this bright, resourceful, street-smart, young man, fall so easily for Alistair’s lies? How could he be so…blind?_

But then he notes the scant space separating the two men, how they seem to be leaning against one another, the way Dean allows Alistair to brush his lips across his lovely face, and the carefree manner in which the older man drapes his arm around Dean’s shoulders. It's regrettable and unfortunate, but only natural that Castiel’s next thoughts take an even darker turn. 

_If Alistair and Dean have already been intimate, and if Dean has already been defiled, then what’s the point?_

It's a legitimate question and a real possibility, but Castiel quickly shakes those troubling thoughts away and berates himself, instead, for not warning Dean when he had the chance. 

But that’s neither here nor there at this point. Even if it's too late and Castiel has lost Dean for good, he still wants to save him; Castiel is fed up and won’t stand idly by while Alistair corrupts yet another recruit. Not this time. 

Alistair silently studies Castiel the entire time, guesses at his inner struggle, and grins, features alighting with amusement while Castiel’s body tenses and his face contorts into a mask of fury. He knows what's about to happen next (Castiel is so predictable) and quickly steps in before his coworker can voice his protest. 

"Dean,” he calls out, voice too loud, mouth only a few inches from Dean’s ear, “shall we go?" he asks again, trying for conversational, but the tension in his tone makes it sound more like an order, than the friendly request it’s meant to be. 

Dean doesn't respond immediately. He doesn’t flinch or cringe or jerk away, and despite the fact that his insides are currently inhabited by a nest of churning snakes, he does an admirable job of keeping stock-still. 

But his eyes do move, a quick flick towards Castiel. Dean isn't sure what he expects to see, or how he’d like Castiel to react, but he does know that if their eyes were to meet (even for an instant) he would reject all of Alistair’s ‘proposals’ and give into his own selfish desires; he would choose Castiel. 

But Dean knows he can't afford to anger Alistair, he's the main reason Dean’s application was accepted, at all. Alistair pulled all of the necessary strings to get Dean an audition, made it possible for him to pursue his dream, and could just as easily, take it all away.

No, to be with Castiel and risk everything, rather than pursue what's best for his family’s future, is out if the question, and never going to happen; nothing is more important to Dean than family, and letting them down is not an option. Dean would rather die first. 

Decision made, Dean straightens to his full height, turns his whole body to face Alistair, and this time, purposefully ignores Castiel’s steely glare. “Yeah, sure. Let's go." His reply is barely audible, but judging by the large grin spreading across Alistair’s face, he caught every word.

"Wonderful-" Alistair cries.

“No!” Castiel protests. “Dean, you can't be serious?”

But Alistair just beams, confident that he's already won the battle.

Undeterred, Castiel tries again, determined to save the younger man from Alistair’s diabolical clutches. “Dean, wait,” he begs, eyes beseeching, and before he can talk himself out of it, rounds on Alistair and steps deliberately in front of his face. “Dean and I were in the middle of a private conversation, Alistair. One you have rudely interrupted. So if you’ll just…” Castiel ends his warning with a wave of his hand, the ‘back-the-fuck-off’, gesture, implicit. 

“I beg your pardon?” Alistair can't believe Castiel’s audacity, and warns him right back. “Watch you’re tone with me, Castiel.” He leans forward, almost nose to nose with Castiel, sneers, “You wouldn't want me to accidentally let slip how far back you and I go. Especially not in front of Dean, hm? Or why you and your entire family, yes, especially you, Chief, are all completely indebted to me.” 

Alistair’s threat is loud and clear. He does remember Dean, and if he were to tell Dean about Castiel’s involvement in his mother's death, Castiel doesn't doubt for one second, that Dean will hate him.

But Castiel no longer cares about himself, his only concern now is for Dean’s safety. “Go ahead, then,” he fires back, “tell him!” Castiel knows exactly what needs to be done here; he has to get Dean as far away from Alistair as he can, even if it means physically wrenching him from the older man’s grasp. Even if it means losing Dean, forever. 

“Don't think I won't.” Alistair challenges, unsure how to proceed now that Castiel has called his bluff. He's not ready to use that particular bit of ammunition, just yet. 

“Good! Dean deserves to know.” Castiel then takes a purposeful step forward, shifts until he’s standing completely between Alistair and Dean, and snarls, "Now either you tell him,” he warns, laying his hand on Dean’s wrist, "or I will.”

Alistair surges forward, now he's the one blocking Castiel’s path. His free hand clenches into a fist, wishes it were around Castiel’s neck, but he wisely suppresses the urge; there are too many witnesses milling around. 

He snorts instead, yanks Dean forcibly back, fans his fingers possessively across the younger man’s waist, digs them cruelly into the soft meat of his hip, and counters, "I'm sure whatever trifles you were discussing with Dean, and whatever it is you intend to tell him now, can wait." 

This is more than Castiel can take, but there's little comfort knowing it will end as soon as he exposes Alistair's sinister motives and their shared history. 

This is it. Castiel is going to tell Dean everything; it's now or never. So he takes a deep breath, steels himself for what’s sure to be an epic battle between himself and Alistair, and hopes Dean isn't not too badly injured, in the process.

“Dean,” Castiel starts, grim but steadfast, there's no turning back now, “there’s something you should know about Alistair. About his motives. About our connec-“ 

But Alistair cuts him off, scoffs, “Really, Castiel, you're embarrassing yourself.” He keeps his tone calm, full of patience, but the rage simmering just beneath the surface, is palpable. He tsks, then sighs, long and suffering. “Dean already knows everything he needs to know. But,” he shrugs, then turns to face Dean, “if you insist on ruining the surprise…well then, let me do it.” 

“What the hell is going on, here?” Dean has been silent throughout this bizarre exchange, but enough is enough. “Seriously, guys, what the hell?”

Alistair smiles in response, Castiel glowers. 

Chest puffing out, back stick-straight, Alistair speaks first, announcing the following as if it were a a monumental declaration, “Dean, you’ve been pre-chosen to be a part of an elite task force. One, which I will personally oversee. But be forewarned,” he amends, jabbing playfully at Dean’s right pectoral with the tip of his finger, “your spot’s not one hundred percent guaranteed.” He winks, adds, “Although I’m certain you’ll get in.

“You’ll still have to work hard for your post, okay. You won’t be getting any free rides, here, everything has to be…earned.” He chuckles, reveling at his idiotic double entendre. “We don't want anyone accusing me of playing favorites, do we now?”

Castiel throws his arms up in disbelief, huffs, “Dean, everything Alistair just told you is a falsehood, there is no task force. Nor is he looking for recruits to fill spots in his ranks.” Castiel is determined to say his peace, he needs Dean to open his eyes and see Alistair for the vile villain that he truly is. 

“He doesn’t even care about the lifeguard’s ranks. Never has. And he’s not interested in you because you might be a great asset. How could he?” Castiel asks, voice growing grittier and more heated the longer he speaks. “He doesn’t even know you.” Because he can't, not the way Castiel does. 

Dean doesn't have an answer for that, and shakes his head. Sure, technically he and Alistair have known each other for twenty years, but only about each other, not personally. 

“Did you seriously think that this man genuinely cares about you or your career? No, Dean,” Castiel shakes his head, scoffs, “I’m sorry, but his interest in you is solely of a…sexual nature." It pains Castiel to state the truth so harshly, to be so brutal, but the bile that coats his tongue after making such a claim, is nothing compared to the wounded look on Dean’s face.

Wounded is an understatement. Dean is shocked and hurt by Castiel’s claims, but royally pissed-off too. How dare Castiel think the only way he’d get in is if he slept with Alistair? Dean knew the ‘high and mighty’ Chief didn't think much of him (just made that abundantly clear) but he had no idea how fucked up Castiel’s opinion of him, truly is. 

And to top it all off, Castiel seriously believes Dean would belittle himself with someone like Alistair? Sexually? For a job? For money? Did Castiel even pay attention to anything he said during their hour long conversation? 

Apparently not. Castiel's words are like a slap to the face, the phantom impact almost making Dean’s head rock back. No sir, Dean does not appreciate Castiel’s insinuations, at all. 

Beside them, Alistair grins, thrilled beyond measure with Castiel’s tirade. He laughs internally, knowing what a grave error Castiel just committed, and how his little speech will have the opposite effect he intended. Alistair honestly doesn't know whether he should kiss Castiel for his blunder, or throttle him for his stupidity.

"Wait...what?" Dean finally finds his voice and rounds on Castiel. “Good to know what you really think of me, Chief.” That the highly decorated Chief of the O.R. looks down his perfect nose at poor-white-trash-Dean, is disheartening, but not really surprising. “You seriously think I'm here because…” Dean can't even finish, he's so disgusted. 

“Dean, please, listen to the facts.” Castiel begs to be understood, but he's afraid, and falters, “I mean…the way this looks, you must see it too.”

“No!” Dean blasts back. “Wrong answer!” He's fucking flabbergasted, furious at the unbelievable shit spewing from Castiel’s mouth; he'd laugh, if he weren’t trying to choke back tears. He's so disappointed, too, for a hope-filled moment, Dean actually believed Castiel was offended on his behalf. That he saw Dean as a damsel in distress (not that Dean would ever admit to wanting a knight to rescue him) and Castiel was stepping in to defend his honor. Maybe even challenge Alistair to a duel. Yeah, freaking hilarious.

Sadly, Dean was just seconds away from forcibly shaking Alistair off and demanding that he keep his own damn hands to his own damn self. But Castiel beat him to the punch, getting all worked up and stepping right in Alistair’s face, body tall, looming, dangerous. So yeah, no one can blame Dean for misinterpreting the Chief’s motives.

"Listen," he starts, finger pocking accusingly against the firm planes of Castiel's chest. He's done listening, done with misunderstandings, and is going to set Castiel straight, "one, you don't know what the hell you're talking about. And two," he snarls, chest rising, heaving for air, "I don't give a damn about what you have to say, and even less about what you think you know.”

Alistair see this as his moment to intervene, sidles right back to Dean’s side, and says, “Dean’s right, Castiel, you have no idea what you’re talking about.” He points to Dean, adds, “Dean and I are old…very old, friends. We, I mean, Dean and little Sammy, and I, go way back. Isn’t that right, Dean?”

God, Dean can’t stomach Alistair, hates that he dared mention Sam, and cringes. _And why the fuck is he standing so close again?_ But what Dean hates even more, is that Castiel actually thinks he and Alistair are a couple. That Alistair is his goddamn partner.

_Stupid asshole_

Dean is more pissed and offended by Castiel, than disgusted by Alistair. So he sides with Alistair and confirms his lies, “Yeah, we’ve been friends a real long time.” He throws a stricken Castiel his stormiest glare, yet, and grits out, “The best.”

Castiel fish-mouths, can't believe this is happening. “But…you. What?” He’s speechless.

Alistair grins triumphantly. “So you see Castiel, any trivialities you wanted to share with Dean, are moot.” Turning to Dean he repeats, “Shall we?”

Dean nods, says, “Yeah, sure, let’s go. There's nothing for me here.” 

"No.” Castiel pleads, trying to hold himself together while his world crumbles. "Dean, you can't. You mustn’t." But his pleas fall on deaf ears; Dean is already walking away, with Alistair at his heels.

Castiel stands there long seconds after they've gone. He's too stunned to move, too consumed with regret, with self-hate, with jealously…

“Fucking Alistair!”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel is numb – blind to the ocean in front of him, deaf to the roar of the wind raging from behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is lengthy, and a bitch to edit. Hope I done good

Castiel is numb – blind to the ocean in front of him, deaf to the roar of the wind raging from behind. 

“Ouch!” A voice groans, pained and drawn out, but it's far away, at least by a few yards.

Castiel doesn't even flinch. 

“ _That_ had to hurt.” The voice is ‘matter of fact’, but sympathetic, too. “Sure as hell was painful to watch."

Castiel barely reacts. He's too distraught by Dean’s dramatic exit to reply, nor does he bother to look around to see who’s speaking (he already knows it's his brother). But when he does speak, his words are spare, he's suddenly very tired. "It was."

Gabriel huffs, annoyed. "Oh for the love of-" his arms shoot up, he's tired too, fed up and aggravated with Castiel's pitiful compliance. "Come on? You're not seriously going to accept defeat? Huh? You really going to give up the one person you've had any interest in like…forever, to that slime ball? I thought you were tougher than that, Cassie. I thought you liked the kid."

Castiel’s head whips around. “Gabriel,” he grits out, lips barely moving, covering the last few yards separating them in three quick strides. “you have no idea what you're talking about.” He’s furious, but it's more with himself than his well-meaning brother. He'd still like to wring his neck, though. 

“You misinformed me on Dean’s…single status, and because of that, I ended up making a complete fool out of myself.” That he also insulted Dean and therefore ruined any chance of a friendship between them, goes unsaid.

Gabriel sputters, “Wha-wha-what?” Aghast, but not really worried, Castiel is always overreacting. “How is any of that my fault?” But after a few seconds of no response from Castiel, Gabriel cups his hands and hollers, “Earth to Cassie!” 

But it's no use, Castiel is so upset with the overall outcome, that he tunes Gabriel out, and once again, turns to face the ocean. 

“Bro?”

Castiel ignores Gabriel. 

“Cassie?”

Castiel even lacks the energy to wonder why his brother (who is supposed to be off-duty today) is there in the first place.

But Gabriel is there. After reading Castiel’s last e-mail, he peeled himself away from his beloved Kali, and raced right back to his brother’s side. There was no way he was going to let Castiel give up on a ‘romantic’ relationship; ‘true love’ or not, Castiel seemed to really like Dean. And to Gabriel, that's all that matters. Heck, at this point, he'd be satisfied knowing his little brother finally got to bump uglies with someone of his choice, rather than rub one off by his lonesome. Or with Meg.

Very tragic. 

It's time Castiel thought of his own needs, instead of catering to every body else's. _Kid’s too much if a martyr_ , in Gabriel’s opinion. So he's going to push Castiel, guide and steer him – kicking and screaming, if he has to – towards his true happiness. Whether the stubborn ass-hat wants to, or not. 

…

"Hey there baby-cakes.” 

Castiel’s jaw clenches at the sound of Meg's voice, but he manages not to cringe. “Meg.” He nods and smiles; she mustn't suspect he's distracted.

Meg quirks her perfectly plucked brow at Castiel and eyes him like a tasty treat. “What's new?" She asks, strutting procacatively towards him, then bumping hips when she stops by his side. “Hm?" Unbeknownst to Castiel, Gabriel wasn't the only person that witnessed his altercation with Dean and Alistair; Meg watched the whole scene unfold from the parking lot.

But Castiel doesn't fall for the bait, he knows her too well. He ignores her question, and instead replies, “And good morning to you too, Meg.” 

Meg snorts, she’s only just started her interrogation. She knows Castiel is hiding something from her, and even if she hadn’t witnessed what happened between him and Gabriel, or that little tiff he had with Alistair, the fact that he's not complaining about that colossal asshole, confirms that there's definitely something going on between Castiel and that new twink. 

“So, you're getting the sign up sheets ready?” She notes, peeking over his shoulder.

“Do you want to look over the applications and select your team?” Castiel asks, avoiding her keen eye, then offering her the clipboard. “Meg?” 

Meg shakes her head. “Not right now, baby.” She twirls her fingers over the long list of names, says, “After you finish doing your magic." Then prods, “So there's absolutely nothing new you want to share? You sure about that?”

"Not a thing." Castiel swears, doing his damnedest to keep his tone even, his face blank. He has to be careful where Meg is concerned, more for Dean's sake than his own. Castiel can't let her know how he truly feels towards the new trainee. She'd eat him alive, if she did. 

"Do you want breakfast?" He asks, it's a weak attempt at redirection, but he needs to change the subject, stat. 

Meg studies him with a critical eye, arms crossed over her chest, manicured toes tapping an impatient beat in the sand, then shrugs, "Okay." And lets the matter go, for the time being. 

...

Dean stands in line with the rest of the trainees, Jo to his left, a pretty redhead to his right. Jo jogs where she stands, too nervous to chat, so he turns his attention to the cute redhead, instead; he'd rather strike up a conversation with any body, than draw Alistair’s eye. 

“Hey there, I'm Dean.” 

The cute redhead grins, offers Dean her hand, and replies, “Well, hey there to you too, Dean. I'm Charlie. Pleasure.” 

They shake, then laugh, their chemistry is instant. They talk nonstop, amazed at all of their similarities, and vow to celebrate together at the end of the day, regardless of their results. They’re exchanging phone numbers a few minutes later, when the blare of a bullhorn startles them into silence.

“Okay, listen up my beauties. My name is Gabriel, and for the next ten minutes, I AM YOUR GOD!” 

“What the hell does he think he's doing?” Alistair mutters, watching in horror as Gabriel grabs the list of pre-assigned groups, he personally typed up, and peruses it. “Damn it!” He curses, knowing exactly what Gabriel intends to do. “Oh no you don't!” He warns, racing from his office and almost tripping in his haste to get to Gabriel.

…

“Now, where was I? Oh yeah!” Gabriel snaps his fingers and walks right up to the trainees, marches the length of the line-up, and scans each applicant’s face. “I’m the one who's gonna decide who gets placed in which group,” he announces, “and which team leader you need to impress the hell out of.” He spots Dean, throws him a wink, then moves on. “So fasten your seatbelt ladies, ‘cause it's gonna be a hell of a bumpy ride!”

Dean’s stomach drops at Gabriel’s words, at his wink, at all of its possible meanings, both dreading and eager to learn his placement. And despite Castiel’s feelings for him, or lack thereof, Dean crosses his fingers and hopes desperately that he gets picked for the Chief’s team. 

“There will be three teams.” Gabriel tells them, voice obnoxiously loud over the bullhorn, “And when I call your name, and your group number, go to that line, and then…well, wait for me to finish with the rest of the damn list.” 

Castiel and Meg move to stop him, but Gabriel easily dodges them and jogs towards the front row of applicants, stopping right in front of Dean. He gives Dean a big grin, turns and gives Castiel a big ‘thumbs-up’, then takes a deep breath and without consulting the list in his hand, hollers, “Dean Winchester, team three!”

“No!” Alistair is shouting for Gabriel to stop, running at full speed, but still too far away to be heard. 

“Um, Gordon Walker, team one. Jo Harvelle, team two. Charlie Bradbury team-“ 

“Give me that!” Meg wrenches the horn from Gabriel’s grasp and pushes him out of the way. “What the hell are you even doing here?” 

"Hey," Gabriel cries, cradling his hurt wrist, “I work here too, you know.” 

“Not for long.” Alistair warns, jogging up to the trio. “Get out, Gabriel. You're not due back until tomorrow.” 

“You're not the boss of me. Oh, well, yeah, technically, I guess you are, but it's a free country and if I want to come hang out at the beach, you can't keep me out. And furthermore-“

Castiel cuts his brother off with a hand to his shoulder. He's already gone over the roster and knows exactly into which team Dean is assigned. And it's not team three. “Gabe, please, just…go. You're not helping.”

“Yes, Gabe, listen to your bother.” Alastair snatches the clipboard from Gabriel’s hand, sneers, “I'll take that.” And scans each column, eyes racing up and down in search of one name in particular. “I believe you made a mistake.” He says, finding the name he seeks. “Ah, yes, here it is.” He inhales deeply (he won't need the bullhorn for this) and shouts, “Correction! Dean Winchester, please report to team...one.”

Castiel’s heart clenches, but schools his features, it's not just Meg he needs to mislead, but also Dean; instant attraction or not, Dean doesn't need saving, or want his protection. Castiel now realizes that he had no right to butt into Dean’s business, let alone impose his opinions, or try to influence his decisions. 

Plus, from what he saw (but mostly from what Dean said) there's no need for him to intervene. Dean’s an adult and is fully capable of making his own choices. Even if they're wrong. Even if it means he's entangling his life with Alistair’s. Even if it's the last thing Castiel wants, and goes against every one of his instincts.

It hurts, but Castiel will do his best to respect Dean’s boundaries. The last thing he wants is for Dean to feel uncomfortable around him, or to worry about his privacy. 

"Hey, you okay?” Gabriel asks, patting Castiel comfortingly on the shoulder.

“Why wouldn't he be okay?” Meg asks, curious over Gabriel’s choice of words. “Hm?”

“Ah, well, because, you see…” 

“No reason, Meg.” Castiel steps between them, pats his brother on the back— a subtle warning to shut up – and adds, “You know how Gabriel worries about me.” And it's true, something the rest of the staff ceaselessly tease Gabriel over, so Meg buys it.

"Well,” she says to Gabriel, shifting until the front of her body is pressed up against Castiel, her tiny hand dropping to grab his, “I'm here now, so no need to worry. I'll make sure my sweetie is well taken care of.” Then she gets on her toes and whispers, “Because I'm never letting you out if my sight.”

“That's what I was afraid of.” Gabriel mutters, grimacing.

“What?”

“I said, ah, ‘guess there's nothing to worry about, then. Huh?”

Meg nods, “No. And don't you forget it.” 

…

Dean thought his day couldn't get any shittier, but that was before he saw that smoking hot brunette, wrap her arms around Castiel. “No wonder.” He sighs, defeated. “Fuck my life.”

“Why?”

“Huh?” He looks over to Charlie, confused. He forgot she was there. She can blame his momentary lapse on Castiel, one look at the Chief and his girlfriend, and Dean pretty much forgot everything, and everyone.

“Why should you ‘fuck your life’?” She air quotes. “I mean, from where I'm standing, we got it in the bag, dude.” 

Dean huffs a small laugh, Charlie’s enthusiasm is contagious. “What do you mean ‘we got it in the bag’? You know something I don't?” 

Charlie rolls her eyes. “D’uh, look around, Dean.”

Dean does. He scans the row of hopefuls, notes that there’s about twenty of them trying out, but only a handful, six at the most, that look like they're physically prepared for the challenge. “Oh, yeah, definitely 'in the bag'. Gotcha.”

Charlie grabs his shoulder, bounces up and down, she's so excited. “Right! And after we kick all of their asses, I'm treating! But only the first round.” 

Dean laughs again, this time it's lighter, looser. He really likes this girl. “You know, I gotta say, I was feeling a little bit out of place here, but you really help put things into perspective.” He'd like to hug her. But he just met her. He mulls it over for another second, then figures, why the hell not. So he bends low, wraps her in his arms, and whispers, “Thanks, Charlie.” 

“Whoa there stud.” Charlie eases her way out of Dean’s grasp, holds him at arm's length, sees the embarrassed look on his face, and gripes, “Man, why does this always happen?”

Dean’s jaw drops, “What?”

Charlie huffs, “You're like, in love with me now, or something. Right?” 

“What?”

But Charlie just sighs, drops her head, sighs again, “Dean, I mean, you're cute and all, like seriously, are your eyelashes even real…never mind. Not important.” She takes his hand, pats it, says, “Sorry, but we could never work out.” 

“Whoa, wait. You think I-“

“No offense, but you and me, are like...” she gestures between them, makes funny shapes with her fingers, frowns, “…like two puzzle pieces, where I don't like your pieces. I mean, they won't fit into my slots.”

Dean’s eyes widen; he doesn't know whether to laugh or to cry. 

“Oh geesh, sorry.” Charlie slaps her forehead, groans, “That did not come out right. What I'm trying to say is, I'm a ladies, lady. Do you understand what I'm trying to tell you?”

Dean bites his lip, it's the only thing stopping him from laughing outright.

“Look, I dig the señoritas. You catch my drift?”

And that does it. 

Dean laughs, a loud bark that bends his body in half, hands braced on his knees, he's laughing so hard. When he can finally breathe again, he huffs, “No worries, I'll try my best to resist your overwhelming magnetism. You know, mend my wounded heart, and all that.”

Charlie laughs too, relieved he isn't sore or hurt. “I just don't want things to be weird between us, you know?” Her forehead creases with genuine concern, because she likes Dean, a lot, just not that way. “I do like you. But like a brother or an awesome first cousin. And it's totally nuts ‘cause we just met, but it's-“

“Charlie, stop, stop. I'm messing with you, okay. “

“Huh?”

Dean grins, answers, “The reason I’m okay with us just being friends, which by the way is a huge deal for me too, is well, because…my puzzle pieces like the same pieces?”

“You lost me, dude.”

Dean laughs, he sucks at this.  
“Charlie, I like guys, okay.” 

Charlie’s face brightens. “Guys? You mean you _like,_ like, them?”

“Yeah, I like super _like,_ like, them.”

Charlie beams and throws her arms around Dean. "Awesome-" they say in tune, then break out in a fresh bout of laughter.. 

…

Everything is going well, extremely well, Alistair couldn't be happier. Well, okay, yes, he could be happier. Dean could be securely strapped to his rack right now, body naked, soul bared, gagged, blindfolded, legs spread, hole plugged, begging, weeping, straining…

So yeah, things could be better. 

“Fuck-“ Alistair bites back a moan and palms at his crotch; he can't get his hands on Dean soon enough. 

“Jesus, Alistair. How about a little tact in front of the kids?”

_Fuck_ , he forgot he's in public. 

Alistair looks to his side and finds Meg standing there. “Meg,” he smiles, “I didn't notice you standing there.” 

“Yeah, me and apparently everybody else.”

Alistair has the decency to look embarrassed. “I was just, I mean…I needed an adjustment. You know how it is?”

Meg frowns, “Ah, no. And I honestly don't care. But you should. We got a job to do here. Or is getting into that kid’s shorts your only priority of the day?" 

Alistair gapes, then hisses, “Just who do you think you are?” He grabs her bicep, yanks her closer, sneers, “You're no better than me, Meg. I've seen what you've done.”

Meg’s eyes grow large, scared, then narrow, lips curling into a cocky smile. “What the hell are you talking about, old man?”

“I know all about Hannah.” He tells her, smiling when her smile vanishes. “She and your precious Chief were quite the hot-item for a while. At least until you came along and told Castiel all of those lies about her. Tarnished her name, ruined her reputation. Made it so he had no choice but to drop her.”

Meg huffs, her smile returns, but it's not as confident as before. “Please. Cassie was never interested in that skank-“

“And the way you set up that insufferable Brit. Balthazar was it?” Alistair snorts, “He and Castiel only dated a minute, but apparently, it was one minute too many, for you.”

Meg glares, but makes sure to keep her tone level, she won't make a scene in front of so many people. “So what about him-“

Alistair ignores the interruption and prattles on. “I don't blame you for getting rid of that one. Walking around like he was ‘king-cock’ of the boardwalk. Always touching Castiel, like he had every right.” Alistair’s voice pitches higher the longer he rambles, then drops when he mutters, “Probably fucked him, too.” 

Meg rolls her eyes, this is getting tedious. “So what if they did-“

“But then you got him drunk at that party you threw. And made sure Castiel walked in on him and your _friends_ enjoying each other’s, ah, company.” Alistair chuckles, loosens his grip on Meg’s arm and rubs at the bruises he's just made. “I must say, Meg, that was quite diabolical. Even by my standards.”

“Look, it’s not like I had to force that man-whore to fuck my friends. Okay. He was will-“

“And then there's Mayor Milton.”

Meg's breath stutters, she feels faint, like all of the blood has been drained from her body. 

_How could Alistair know about Luke?_

Meg took great pains to keep her affair with Castiel’s brother a secret, thought she had been careful enough, but somehow Alistair still found out. “Wha-what?”

“Oh,” Alistair grins, drinking in her fear; it confirms she knows exactly what he's talking about, “you thought no one noticed? Well, I did.” He waits a beat, lets the threat sink in, then adds, “I know you never ended your affair with him, that you've been sleeping with him since even before you set your sinister sights on Castiel. I also know you're desperate to win Castiel back. And I further know, that the fool is actually considering it.” 

Alistair laughs again, then presses his lips against her ear. “Meg,” he whispers, nipping at the delicate flesh, “if Castiel were to learn that you've been unfaithful, again, that you've never stopped lying to him, and with his brother no less, well…” 

Meg shakes him off, stumbles back, snorts, “Hmpht, you can't prove a thing.”

Alistair snorts right back at her, takes out his cell phone, pulls up his photo album, then shows her the screen.

“I especially like the one of you two in your lifeguard tower.” He points at an image, scrolls to the next one. “The curve of your naked back, the way the Mayor’s thighs bracket your pretty face, his fingers in your hair, the way he holds your head down, his cock in your mouth...” 

He giggles, snatches his phone, does a quick search, then shoves it back at her. “There! I knew I had a video.” He hits play and fans his face, confesses, “Milton men certainly fuck like pros. I've actually gotten myself off to that one, well, not to you, necessarily, no offense. But to the very dashing Mayor. Despite our differences," he sighs, "I do find him to be a very attractive man.” 

“You're a sick fuck.”

Alistair ignores the slur, looks around to make sure they're still out of earshot. “I know you tamper with Castiel’s assignments, his schedules. I know that you make sure the prettiest recruits are never alone with him, and how you falsify records to get the ones he gets ‘too close to’, transferred.”

“What do you want, Alistair?”

“And while sabotaging your boyfriend’s love life isn't a crime, tampering with government records, most certainly is.” 

Alistair smiles down at her, dusts himself off, says, “So do me a favor, Meg, and get off your high horse.” He spreads his fingers over the dotted bruises on her arm, caresses them, adds, “You're no better than me.” Then drops his hand and takes a small step back. “But don't you worry, I'll keep your troubling little secrets, for you.” 

“Oh will you?” Meg is shaken, but manages to convey cocky-assurance. “And I suppose you want something in return.” 

Alistair taps his chin, hums, “As a matter of fact, there is.”

...

“Holy crap!” Jo pumps her knees, chest high, but the relentless pace is starting to take a toll on the young trainee. “I think Masters is trying to kill us! Remind me again why we’re doing this?” 

Shortly after each recruit learned into which team they were placed, they were instructed to check in with their respective team leader, and ordered to line up for the upcoming drills. But by the third hour of their twelve hour day, the initial twenty recruits, has dwindled down, to sixteen. 

“I swear,” Jo swears, doing her best to keep up with her friend, Lisa, “she's the devil in disguise.”

“N’ah,” Lisa replies, effortlessly tackling each hurdle, “that's Master Chief Crowley.” 

Jo falls behind, pants, “You, you, mean… Cree-creepy Crowley? He ain't so bad.” 

Jo and her family see Master Chief Crowley, Castiel’s boss, at least once a month at her family’s restaurant, and always in Bobby Singer’s company; rumor has it, Crowley is collecting on some wager Bobby lost. “I hear…that, that…that our soon-to-be-boss, Alistair, is way worse.”

Lisa hums in reply, eyes focused on the rows and rows of rubber tires set along a wide swath of the beach. She easily dashes over the entire lot and pulls further ahead. She looks over her shoulder, throws Jo a wink, and says in a loud voice, “All’s I know is that you thought this would look good on our college applications!”

“Since when do you listen-“ 

“Harvelle,” Meg shouts, “less talking, more hustling!”

Castiel evaluates his team’s performance from the the sign-up tables. When he hears Meg holler, he lowers his binoculars and walks towards her tower. “Meg,” he calls to her, and climbs up, “you're riding them too hard. Let them talk.” 

“This isn't a fucking social club.” She argues, one hand braced on the handrail while watching her team through her own binoculars. She curses under her breath, barks out commands, warnings, reprimands, she's in a foul mood. “They're here for a god damn job. A tough fucking job. And if they're just in it to make friends, well then,” she snorts, “they've got another thing coming.” 

Castiel takes her chin in his hand, turns her head until she's looking at him, says, “But if they're able to hold a conversation while going through those drills, I mean,” he cocks his brow, grins, “those fucking drills, then they’re exactly the sort of trainees we want to recruit.”

Meg gets on her toes, brings her face closer to his, tips her chin at him defiantly, and smiles, the red gloss on her lips, more predatory than flirty. “Maybe, maybe not.” She counters. “But right about now, all I want is for this torture to be over.” She laughs when he scowls. “Buuuut, if you promise to take me out afterwards, I promise I won't ride them so hard.”

"Meg, you know I'm not-“ 

She cuts him off with a kiss. “Oh, come on baby, it's been a shitty day and I'm horny.” 

Castiel pushes her off. He wants to spit, to rid his moth of her taste, but opts to wipe at his lips with the back of his hand, instead. “Meg,” he exhales, pinching the bridge of his nose. “We've been over this. You know I'm not…not ready to forgive you.” 

Truth is Castiel never really blamed Meg for her promiscuity. He knew exactly who she was, and from where she came (The Pit) when they first started dating. 

All thanks to Alistair. 

The head lifeguard made sure Castiel knew that Meg frequented his favorite S&M club, and that he and she had had ‘interactions’, there. 

But Castiel dated Meg regardless. He liked her, admired her directness, her strength, he saw a genuine kindness lurking beneath her darkness, and accepted her advances. 

That angered Alistair, and in a fit of jealousy, he confronted Castiel and exposed Meg’s affair with Luke. 

Yes, Luke Milton, the honorable Mayor of Santa Monica, and Castiel's brother, also frequented The Pit, and enjoyed ‘role-playing’ with his partners. His appetite was legendary, but apparently not as insatiable as Meg’s. They partnered up early, but Meg quickly matched, then surpassed, his needs, giving Luke more than he could handle. Luke was instantly enamored, and since then, has pursued her relentlessly. 

But his vehemence scared Meg; the fact that he knew what she was and still wanted her, terrified her. _There has to be something wrong with him_ , she reasoned, and ran. 

That’s when she met Castiel. The Chief had a stellar reputation, known to all as an honorable and just man. Meg saw true goodness in him and desired it for herself. 

So she chased him, caught him, and then had him. But she grew bored after a short while, missed her old ways, missed Luke, and not long after starting a relationship with Castiel, strayed. 

Castiel found out, again, all thanks to Alistair. Castiel could tolerate a great many things, except betrayal. So he ended their relationship (it actually lasted longer than he thought it would) and they remained friends. 

But that's not enough for Meg. She still wants Castiel, and she's willing to do anything to win him back. Even if it means doing Alistair’s bidding. 

“I'm sorry I hurt you, baby. But I promise, you won't regret giving us a second chance.”

“Meg, I'm just not interested, okay.”

“Is that so?” She challenges, “Not interested in a relationship in general? Or just not in one, with me?”

Castiel chooses to not reply. Why bother, she's always been too sharp for him. So he picks up his binoculars, points them towards the patch of beach his group is scheduled to tackle next, when his eyes land on Dean. The sight makes his breath catch and his chest ache: Dean shirtless, body glistening, hair spiky with sweat, running, leaping, gripping the monkey-bars, effortlessly covering the full length in a matter of seconds, then dropping to the ground and bouncing back up, running, climbing a wall, hopping over the other side, running and running…

Beside him, Meg wonders at Castiel’s lengthy silence, notes the faraway look in his eyes, points her binoculars in the direction he's staring, and curses. 

...

It's hour seven, and only eleven applicants remain. 

“Dean, you're doing so well.” Alistair praises, meeting Dean at the finish line. “Keep this up,” he confides, dragging his open palm over Dean’s damp shoulder, “and you'll definitely be this year’s, ‘Top Pick’.” 

Dean manages not to recoil, but nonetheless takes several steps back. “Ah, yeah,” he pants, inhaling, exhaling, bending over as if trying to catch his breath, "thanks.” He huffs. “But, ah, I'm just gonna go.” He points to the next obstacle course, starts jogging towards it, then hollers over his shoulder, “…so, yeah.”

Charlie sees Dean approaching and makes room for him at the front of the next challenge. “What did the ‘Big-Bad’ want?” She asks.

Dean snorts at the apt nickname. “Don't worry ‘bout me,” he replies, voice low so only she can hear, “s’nothing I can't handle.”

“Well, if you say so.” She replies, voice just as low. “But don't hesitate to share, okay? If there's anything inappropriate going on, I promise you, I will use every avenue open to me, and even those that aren't,” she winks, “to ensure that Alistair is disbarred. I mean, just because I'm running around in this aerodynamically designed swimsuit, doesn't mean-“ 

"Dude, stop!" Dean laughs, shaking his head and wondering if she ever needs to breathe. “I'm good, really. And just FYI, the guy’s not a lawyer, okay. So no need to get the 'Review Board' after his ass."

"Well...okay. If you say so." 

Dean pats her on the shoulder and smiles, faking it for her sake, but wishing he could believe his own lie.

…

It's the twelfth hour, and only eight of the original twenty applicants remain. It's do or die, from here on out. 

Castiel, Meg, and Alistair make their way down the beach, stopping at the starting point of the last, and most difficult, challenge. 

This year, it's Castiel’s turn to address the small group of hopefuls. 

 

“First of all,” he starts, voice crackling with enthusiasm, “I want to congratulate all of you for making it this far!” He's upbeat, an inspiration, and with his eyes sparkling despite the late hour, the remaining eight can't help but bask in his magnificence – Castiel is impossibly handsome, his mere presence stirring a fierce need in each and every one of them to prove their self-worth to him.  
“And regardless of the outcome,” he smiles, “you should all be proud. I know I am.” 

He consults his chart, hums as he peruses the list, looks over to Meg for any further input (all he gets is an impatient nod telling him to get on with it) then proceeds to outline the final challenge.

“For the final trial, you will each need to accomplish the following steps in order to pass this portion of your entrance exam.” He waits a handful of seconds, then starts ticking off the items on his list. 

“Starting at Tower One,” Castiel turns and points to the tower behind him, “run the length of the beach until you reach your next goal, which is Tower Three. It's about half a mile. From there, you will head to the water, and swim to your second goal, that buoy,” he points to a dot in the horizon, difficult to see because it keeps bobbing in and out of view, “it's about five hundred yards out. Then you swim back to the same point of entry, Tower Three. And finally,” he concludes, making eye contact with each and every one of the remaining recruits, but holding Dean's gaze a beat longer than the others, “step Three, sprint right back to where you started, right here at Tower One.” 

Dean stares right back, locks eyes with the Chief, and smiles. He didn't mean to do it, but with the last rays of the setting sun magnifying the blue of Castiel’s eyes, and the sharp angles of his jaw softened by his day old scruff, Castiel is breathtaking.

Castiel returns Dean’s smile, it's small, but only for Dean, then clears his throat, and resumes, “As you are all aware, the candidate that reaches the finish line first, not only gets instant placement, regardless of your performance on tomorrow’s written exams, but will also be awarded this year’s ‘Top Pick’ prize.” He smiles again, enjoying the excited response this particular announcement always produces. 

“Yes,” he agrees, “a guaranteed post. But better still, the winner also gets to choose the team leader under which he, or she, wants to apprentice.” He takes a step in Dean’s direction, repeats, “ _you_ get to choose.”

Then the buzzing grows into an outright din, and Castiel’s voice is momentarily drowned out. He gives it a few seconds to die down, then continues, “But don't worry, if none of us present today appeal to you, there are several more lifeguards on staff, from which to choose.” 

A hand shoots up, and Castiel pauses. “You have a question, Ms. Bradbury?”

Charlie beams, honored the Chief remembered her name. “Hi there, Chief. I mean, yes, I have a question.” She coughs, composes herself, asks, “can we pick you? I mean, whoever wins. Are you part of the prize?” 

Charlie’s question is met with a smattering of laughter. Castiel drops his eyes and smiles. Dean smiles too, happy the question was asked, and eager to hear the answer. 

“Well, even though I'm not technically a lifeguard, I am more than qualified to train you. So yes, Ms. Bradbury, if the winner picks me, then I am hers.” Castiel scans their faces, catches Dean’s eye, holds his gaze, and amends “Or his.” 

Alistair face-palms, curses into his fist, mutters, “Let's get a move on, Milton.”

“Of course.” Castiel replies, and with his eyes still on Dean, announces, “Good luck to you all.” 

…

The race is fast and intense, and because their limbs are already fatigued, grueling. 

But that's not the case, for Dean. 

On the contrary, he feels revitalized. Castiel’s words hit him like a balm, like a life-preserver, a promise that if he does well and wins, then they can be together. Dean can choose to train under Castiel, to learn from him, to work with him, to spend the bulk of his time at the beach with him, and be spared Alistair’s management. 

Sure, Dean’s still pissed at the Chief, but he can be a professional, too. He’ll make allowances for Castiel, move past his own grievances, work companionably side by side with him, all without complaining. And who knows, maybe in time (after Dean proves that he's earned the title ‘lifeguard’ on his own merits, and not because of any ‘sexual’ favors or charity) Castiel will look upon him like he does his fellow coworker's, with respect and affection. 

Of course, this all depends on Castiel. Would he even want to personally train Dean? It would be a huge responsibility and a massive undertaking. Dean is a high school dropout with only a GED to prove that he's capable of more. Castiel already knows all of this, of course; Dean mentioned it to him earlier. He wonders if Castiel remembers, and if he does, prays that it won't ruin his chances with him. 

But if it does, and Castiel rejects Dean, then there's always Meg. Although, judging by the way Dean’s skin crawls every time she shoots him one of her calculating looks, he might be better off, with Alistair. 

N’ah, with the way Castiel was eyeballing him, Dean can't help but feel optimistic, like everything is going to work out for them in the end. As long as he doesn't fuck up and lose, that is. 

...

Dean reaches Tower three in record time. From there, he races towards the waters edge, kicks off his sneakers, dives into the churning waves, and swims towards the buoy. And that's, that, once Dean is in the water, there's no one, other than a highly trained professional, that can out-swim him.

Dean’s body cuts through the current with little effort at first, but then the waves grow rougher, and his pace becomes increasingly difficult to maintain. But luckily for Dean, he's got a secret weapon: powerful shoulders and arms. He employs those now, uses them to propel him the rest of the way, and in less than a minute, reaches his target.

"Woo-hoo!” He hoots, thrilled that he's won. Well, almost; he still needs to make it back.

But he feels confident, and gives himself a brief moment to catch his breath. He takes a quick scan of his surroundings, notes that Lisa is only just getting into the water, opens his mouth to hoot one more time, when an especially brutal wave, knocks him forcibly against the buoy. 

“Fuck!” He swears, shaking the water from his eyes. His ears are ringing and he feels dazed - this can't be good - so he raises an unsteady hand to his hairline, and curses again when it comes back bloody.

He has to get back.

Dean lets go of the buoy – it's violent lurching isn't doing him any favors – and starts on his return.

But the ocean has different plans for him. Like a giant fist, another wave hits him, lifts his body up, and out of the water, then slams him hard against the buoy’s jutting side. Dean scrambles to get a hand-hold, to keep his head above water, but it's no use, his limbs feel leaden, and he starts to slip under.

_Fucking great!_

....

Castiel has been following Dean’s progress from the start (his binoculars trained solely on this particular trainee’s performance) and is the first to witness the moment of impact. 

“Dean!” He shouts, and springs into action.

He races towards the ocean’s edge, barking out orders and tearing off his layers without slowing, then dives right in. 

He immediately passes Lisa; she also noticed Dean’s thrashing and quickened her stroke. But she's no match against the Chief, or the roughness of the waves. 

"Dean-" Castiel calls out, reaching Dean a few seconds later. "It's okay now, Dean, I've got you." He wraps an arm around Dean’s waist and anhors his slack body against his own. “Dean,” Castiel says again, cradling Dean’s head with his free hand, doing his best to keep it from lolling, “can you hear me?” He asks, looking back towards the shore, relieved to hear a siren’s wail. 

“Dean, please, look at me, please, Dean…” Castiel’s words are chocked and his eyes burn, but he stays focused and keeps trying, “...please, Dean, please, not again.” 

Dean jerks in Castiel's arms, “C-Cas?” He sputters, hacking and coughing up water.

“Yes, Dean, it's Cas.” Castiel is so relieved, he could cry, and if it weren't for his rapidly approaching coworkers, he'd gladly demonstrate just how relieved he truly feels. 

“Wha…happen?” Dean asks, words slurred, head muddled, eyes full of fear, scared and growing more agitated. 

This is eerily familiar. 

“What…” he asks again, trying not to panic, trying to be brave like his daddy, like his mommy asked him to be, like he promised her he would be. 

But it's no use, Dean is terrified. He remembers this, the danger, the horror, because it's happened before. No, wait, it's happening now, the nightmare isn't over, because it never really ended. He was never saved and still hopelessly caught in the storm’s grip; he's still going to die. He’s going to lose his brother, his father, and he'll never see his mommy again. The storm is going take them, and they'll all be gone. 

All gone. 

And soon he will be gone, too. His mouth will fill water, he won't be able to see, he won't be able to breathe, he’ll choke, then drown. 

Dean thrashes in Castiel's arms, beats weakly at his shoulders and tries to pull away, but it's futile, Castiel’s grip is ironclad, there's no breaking it. "Sammy!” He cries, he knows what's about to happen next. “I need to get Sammy!” 

Castiel's heart breaks, he needs this to end, he won't survive it a second time. “Dean, it's okay…" he swears, "you're going to be okay!” 

“Mom! Where's my…brother? Sammy!”

“Dean, please, look at me!” Castiel wraps his legs around Dean’s waist, then takes his head in both hands. “Dean, Sam is safe! I promise. You are safe! I've got you! I won't let go, I promise!”

Castiel's words sink in, and Dean finally stills. "Cas?" He mouths, eyes fluttering open. He remembers hearing those words before. He remembers every word, every syllable, and he should, he's been hearing them every single night since _that_ night, and he remembers them well.

He looks at Castiel, really looks at him, sees his grief, the fear twisting his features, the water dripping from his hair, and the startling blue of his eyes – the exact same blue of his dreams – and gasps. 

“It was you.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a cowardly reaction, to finally be faced with one's crime and not want to face the consequences, but that's exactly what he's doing, and its despicable. Castiel didn't think he could hate himself more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long to post. Hope it flows, hope you enjoy

Dean’s mind overflows with memories from that dreadful night, and he gasps. “It was you." 

He's remembering it all, it's still mostly patchy, but there’s one thing of which he is certain: the blue of his rescuer’s eyes (eyes that have haunted his dreams for decades now) is the exact same blue as his current rescuer’s eyes, Castiel. “Cas, you…you’re him.”

A thousand different answers, immediately followed by a thousand different outcomes, cross Castiel's mind. He wants to say yes, of course he does, but the word gets stuck in his throat.

_Yes Dean, I saved you, but not your mother._

Yeah, he could see that going over really well. 

But it is the truth. 

_Dean, your mother died because of me. I distracted Michael and he hesitated. He was too concerned for my own damn safety, and that's why your mother died. All because of me._

_Her death was my fault._

Castiel knows what he has to do, but he hesitates. Sure, he was ready to admit his fault earlier, but now, he’s afraid. 

_You’ll hate me if you find out, and that's why I can't tell you the truth._

It's a cowardly reaction, to finally be faced with one's crime and not want to face the consequences, but that's exactly what he's doing, and its despicable. Castiel didn't think he could hate himself more. But then again, he also can't bear lying anymore. Especially not to Dean. 

Change of plans. 

"Dean,” Castiel says, steeling himself for the news he knows he has to deliver, “there's something I need to tell you.” He's going to tell Dean everything. Of course he doesn't want Dean to know – the traumatized young man will most likely end up hating Castiel after he hears the whole sordid story – but Castiel has no right to keep this truth from him, either. 

He no longer has that option. 

But first things first. He needs to get the still struggling trainee, back on land, and then, once the paramedics confirm Dean is unharmed, Castiel will confess. Yes, that's what he'll do. 

"But later. I'll tell you every -" 

And that's as far as he gets. 

"Cassie!” Gabriel calls out to his brother, reaching him six strokes before Meg. 

“It's Dean!” Castiel cries back, clutching fiercely to his precious cargo. “Help me with him.” 

“Gimmie!” Meg grunts, treading behind Dean’s limp body while Gabriel tries to pry him and Castiel apart. “Let go of him, damn it!” 

Castiel clings a second longer, then releases Dean. “Careful with him!” He orders. “He might have a concussion. He's bleeding too. We need to get him to the hospital as soon-“ 

"Christ! You think this is my first day?” 

"Bro, come on!” Gabriel orders, grabbing Castiel by the elbow and pulling him towards the shore. 

Castiel resists at first, but then, satisfied that Meg, despite her diminutive stature, is in fact more than capable of handling Dean, relaxes and follows his brother back, swimming only an arm’s length away from them, the entire time. 

“What hell were you thinking?” Gabriel snaps, grumbling curses under his breath. “You almost gave me a god damn heart attack.” He spots the remaining trainees wading nearby, and shouts, “The rest of you snap out of it! Swim back and finish the damn race, already!” 

… 

Alistair watches everything unfold from the shore, grip, knuckle white on his binoculars, teeth grinding to the ambulance’s wail. The second Dean’s head connected with the buoy, he called for one. Not because he wanted to, but because he had to, regulations, after all. Normally he'd scoff at such silly rules, he's above all that nonsense, but with so many people milling around, not just his staff and the few remaining trainees, but also the growing number of spectators (who knew watching half naked, toned, athletes vying for a spot on his team would make for such compelling entertainment) he had no choice but to follow protocol. 

Yet, even then, he hesitated. 

But when Castiel sprang into action, feet kicking up sand and barking out orders on his way to the floundering trainee, Alistair really had no choice but to comply. 

And that's where he is now: waiting for the ambulance to arrive, watching as Dean feebly swims back, and furious that he wasn't the one to rescue him in the first place. 

Alistair lets loose a string of curses, he's beside himself with anger. He should have been the one to rescue Dean. And he would have been, if Castiel hadn't reacted first, jumped to his feet, out run all of the other lifeguards by seconds, and reached Dean first .

Alistair curses again, berating Castiel mercilessly under his breath. He should get Crowley to fire him, he really should, Castiel has been more trouble than he's worth, but he can't. No, Mayor Milton would have Alistair’s hide if he so much as looked crossly at his baby brother. Besides, Crowley is deep in the Mayor’s pocket, he'd never do a favor for him without the Mayor’s consent.

But that concern is for later, he'll think on it, then. For now, Alistair is more preoccupied on getting Dean back to his house and strapped onto his rack. It's what this whole damn fiasco has been about: breaking the boy and making Dean his. It's been a long time coming, too, and Alistair has been more than patient. The time is now. And as soon as Meg sets foot on land, he's going to take charge of Dean, drag him back to his house, and finally carry out his plans. 

And oh, the plans he has laid out for the boy. Some might balk, many would think him depraved and twisted, but it's a thing of beauty, as far as Alistair is concerned – the reforming, remolding, and remaking of a blemished soul, the claiming of a broken heart. 

Those images shoot a lustful fire through Alistair, and he slips into a fantasy. It's a familiar one, a favorite: he's in his secret lair, his haven, an underground room where he's free to ‘experiment’. It's the one place where he can do as he pleases. A place where he can carefully, leisurely even, inspect every delicious inch of the recovering youth’s delectable body, catalogue every scratch, note every injury, file away the location of Dean’s most vulnerable spots, and all in the privacy of his own sanctuary. It's where he will make sure Dean receives the ‘appropriate’ care (Alistair’s version, anyway) for whatever ails him, and make him all better.

“Yo,” Meg shouts, her cry waking Alistair from his obscene musings, “give me a hand!” She's out of breath, buckling under Dean’s soaking weight, yet valiantly bearing his bulk since he's still unstable. “Kid’s not exactly 'light as a feather', you know!” 

Alistair rushes to her side, easily beating Castiel (the seasoned Ocean Rescue Chief is still shaken, and having his own difficulties climbing out of the ocean’s grip) and pulls a wobbly Dean from her arms. “I'll take him from here.” He tells her, and without waiting for a reply, wraps his arm around Dean’s waist, and slings Dean’s arm, over his shoulder.

“No!” Dean cries, suddenly alert. He's exhausted too, body coming down from the initial adrenaline rush of the past half hour, but there's nothing like having Alistair manhandle him, to shake the cobwebs from his brain. “I mean…I'm good, just need a minute, is all.”

Alistair shushes him, tightens his grip and whispers, “Shhh, my boy, let me be the judge of that. Okay? Look,” he brushes his nose across Dean’s damp cheek, offers, “my house is just past the boardwalk, we can walk there from here.” He nods towards the promenade, waits for a reply, gets none, adds, “Or, if you’re still feeling too weak to manage even that, I can give you a ride.” 

Meg hears his offer and snorts, “Hmpht, yeah, I bet you want to give him a ‘ride’.” The snarky comment earns her a warning glare, but instead of backing down, she argues on, “No way, Alistair! The kid’s bleeding, for christ’s sake! The paramedics need to check him out. I mean come on, you still have an actual job to do, remember? Or do I need to get Luke out here to remind you?” 

It's a threat, a well aimed one; Alistair may be the master of manipulation, but as a former apprentice of his, Meg learned early on, how to play at his own game. 

“That won't be necessary, Meg, there's no need to bother the Mayor.” He scans Dean’s face, adds, “And don't you worry that messy little head of yours, I'll make sure Dean is well looked after.” 

“No,” Dean insists, willing his body to stand without Alistair’s aid, “really, I'm good. See-“ he pulls free from Alistair’s grip and stands to his full height, back rigid, shoulders square, sweating despite the chill evening air. “Told ya.”

Alistair grins indulgently, he's not letting Dean get away this time. “Be that as it may, you are still coming home with me.” And with that said – the finality in his tone leaving no room for argument – he once again secures Dean’s arm over his shoulder, only to have him promptly pulled away by the paramedics. 

“No, wait!” Alistair loses his hold and cries out, “I've got him! I mean, I’ll check him for injuries.” 

The paramedics don't even pause, they have their own procedures to follow, and right now, it's providing the best possible care for their patient. So without skipping a beat, they take hold of Dean, strap him onto a waiting gurney, and carry him back to their ambulance.

…

"Dude, quit it!” Dean bats the persistent paramedic’s hand away, swears, “I'm okay!” Then tries to make a run for it. 

But the paramedic blocks his path, he’s got a job to do, and in spite of his patient’s surly and uncooperative behavior, he’s going to it. 

Dean realizes this, and changes tactics. “Aww, come on, Aaron.” Dean smiles, ceases his combativeness, and proceeds to flirt his ass off. Dean knows he’s attractive, he also knows that the young paramedic, Aaron, has a crush on him – the guy practically drooled all over his naked chest when he was trying to get Dean to lay down— so he smiles, throws Aaron a wink, boldly places his hand on the paramedic’s wrist, and goes in for the kill. “Be a good guy, okay.” Dean leans in, confides, “I just need a minute to catch my breath, is all.”

His behavior is shameless, but at this point, Dean is willing to do whatever it takes, even if it means using his good looks to get his way, in order to get back to Castiel.

_Castiel_

Dean’s mind is still reeling from his earlier epiphany. The fact that it was Castiel, and not Alistair, that rescued him, is still sinking in, and making it all the more urgent for him to confront Castiel and ask him what he remembers. 

_But what if it wasn’t him?_

A shred of doubt niggles at the back of Dean’s mind, because some things just don’t add up. For one thing, Castiel would have been a little kid back then, an underage, unqualified, pre-teen, and the last time Dean checked, the minimum age for recruitment was twenty-one. Then there’s the fact that Castiel was never mentioned in the official report. There's no document, no record, nothing, stating that he was present that night. And why, because he simply wasn’t there.

Dean shakes his head and dismisses those doubts. He _knows_ it was Castiel who saved him that night. Call it a gut feeling, intuition, instinct, whatever, but it was him.

"Dean?” Aaron looks at the hand covering his own, and gulps, he can’t believe a guy this hot, is hitting on him. “Gee, I…well," he looks at Dean with a critical eye, admits, "I guess you are doing pretty good, I mean...are you sure?” And it's true, Dean is alert, lucid, and looks well enough to go back. Well, except for the blood. 

“Ah geesh,” Aaron points to Dean’s temple, says, “wait a sec.” And starts rummaging through his supplies. He pulls out cotton pads, antiseptic, bandages, and with a shake of his head, tells Dean, “Look, at least let me patch you up before you go? Okay. And I wanna take your blood pressure, too-“ 

Dean nods his consent; he knew he’d get his way. But he’s anxious to get going, the feeling that time is running out is like an itch beneath his skin. "You sure that’s all you wanna take?” He teases, amping up the charm, running his hand up Aaron’s forearm, and squeezing his bicep. “Hm?” 

But Dean doesn’t wait for an answer. He's leaving now. "I'll see you in a bit, okay." He drops his hand, takes a small step back, promises, "I'll be right back." Then spins on his heel and bumps right into Alistair. 

_God damn it!_

...

Alistair breaks into a wide, hungry grin, arms itching to wrap around the mostly naked young man pressed up against him. “Dean,” he says softly, but with an eagerness that's unnerving, “are you ready to go?”

Dean bites back a scream. He wants to shout no, to turn tail and get as far away from Alistair as he can, but Aaron beats him to the punch. 

“He can’t go yet.” Aaron points to Dean’s head, waves a bandage in the air, “Dean isn’t, I mean, I need to clean that wound.”

It's a struggle, but Alistair tears his eyes from Dean’s face, aims a calculated sneer at the annoying paramedic, and replies, “I’ll do it. I have my own supplies.” Then he clamps a possessive hand around Dean’s waist, and proceeds to steer him towards the parking lot.

Dean briefly considers yanking free, but then remembers the precarious state of his future (Alistair might still hire him) and wills himself to relax. But it doesn’t work, his survival instincts are too strong, and he resists. 

"But he hasn’t been released, yet!” Aaron protests, unwilling to give up his patient, just yet.

“And I say he has.” Alistair counters, incensed and not bothering to hide it. Especially not after the Chief paramedic (Jody Mills) rattled on and on over his messy handling of Dean’s accident. The long-winded lecture only served to sour Alistair’s already foul mood. So now, instead of calmly discussing his concerns over Dean’s condition with Aaron, Alistair ignores his protests, and tries to pull Dean away. But it’s a struggle, Dean has planted his feet firmly, and won’t budge.

Aaron gapes and moves as if to protest.

But Alistair notices Aaron's reaction, and opts to diffuse his suspicions before he runs off to warn Mills. "I'm Dean’s boss," he clarifies, checking the paramedic’s jacket for a name, “Arron Bass. Actually," he chuckles, a dark, humorless sound, "I'm everyone's boss. I'm this sector's Captain." He looks back at Dean and pins him with his eyes - it's a warning not to move, a promise they'll soon be leaving. 

"And as far as I can tell, and I can tell a great many things," Alistair prattles on, "is that Dean is perfectly fine.” He pauses, lets the subtle warning sink in for a second, then plows ahead. “And really, out of the two of us, who do you think is best qualified to diagnose Dean’s condition? Hm? Or to decide if he needs to go to a hospital?” He pauses again for effect, then obnoxiously answers his own question. “Well, that would be me.” He's bluffing, of course, Alistair has no such authority, let alone qualifications, despite his years of training, to back up any of his claims. But he's willing to bet the young paramedic doesn't know that.

“Taking Dean away in that big, expensive, ambulance, would be a great waste of resources. Not to mention how upset the Mayor will be when he finds out you refused to follow my advise.” He laughs, shakes his head, “But don't worry, I won't tell hm. Just leave everything to me. I'll make sure the ‘patient’ gets the care he deserves. You have my word.”

Arron sighs, he's heard enough. “Fine,” he concedes and repacks the bandage, “I guess it’ll be okay.” He nods at Dean, adds, “But first, Dean needs to consent we release him into your care. Then he's all yours.”

Bingo! 

Alistair beams, pleased with how easy it was to bend the paramedic to his will. “I'm sure that won't be a problem. Isn't that right, Dean?”

“…”

“Dean?”

Dean could cry; did Aaron really just hand him over to Alistair? Was it really that easy? He doesn’t want to go anywhere with Alistair, but there’s no way he can refuse and still hope to get hired. He's so screwed. 

Or is he? 

“Dean!”

Dean jumps, looks from Alistair back to Arron, croaks, “Yeah?”

Arron snaps his fingers sharply in Dean’s face, forehead creased with concern, “Are you sure you're okay?” 

Dean automatically bats Arron's hand away, but then quickly catches himself, and apologizes. “Sorry, I, ah, guess I'm still a little bit…” he shrugs, but the gesture is vague at best, conveying neither agreement nor rejection to Aaron's question, or Alistair’s proposition. 

Alastair just stares back, eyebrow cocked, lips a thin stern line; he is not amused. 

_Fuck!_ Dean drops his eyes and tries to think of a way to salvage the situation. He looks over to Aaron for inspiration, and a plan pops into his head. It's a long shot, but he's willing to give it a try. 

“Ah, well, I, um, mm’guess, s’pose that, ah…you know, my head is kinda fuzzy.” His words are slurred and incoherent, he winces and grimaces (for no apparent reason) and sways where he stands. “Ah, you got an aspirin...Billy?” He delivers that last bit of his performance with a visible wobble to his head, and stares hard at the rookie, brow furrowed with the silent message he's trying to transmit. 

“Billy?” Aaron parrots, head tipped sideways in confusion. “No Dean,” he says, concern over his patient's state of mind, increasing, ten-fold, “it's Aaron, remember? Geesh, man, you really are out of it. Come on, I'm taking you to the-“ 

“No! Dean is coming with me.”

Arron jumps, startled by the hostility in Alistair's tone. "Ah, that would be a negative." He nods to Dean, points out, "Mr. Winchester is clearly not well, okay. He's confused and unsteady. His pupils are dilated for chrissakes! He needs to see a doctor. So I'm sorry if it goes against ‘your better judgment’, but I'm taking him in.” 

"How dare you defy me." Alistair rounds on Aaron, points an accusatory finger in his face, and whisper-hisses his earlier threat, "Have you forgotten about the Mayor? Or how upset he will be upon hearing of your... insubordination?” 

Arron exhales, a long suffering breath, and hangs his head low; he had forgotten all about the Mayor. “Yeah,” he sighs, knowing when he's beat. He also knows Chief Mills is going to be really pissed when she finds out, but what is he supposed to do? He can’t piss the Mayor off, as well. He needs this job. Heck, he just got it, and as it is, he's been skating on thin ice since day one. Nope, his hands are tied, cute or not, Dean is not worth the hassle. “Fine,” he relents, giving all of the control back to Alistair, “Mr. Winchester can go with you.”

“Wise decision.” Alistair says, smug and thoroughly pleased with himself. “Let's go, Dean?”

“Um…” Caught off guard, Dean falters. He was so sure Aaron would fall for the act, go all ‘concerned paramedic’, and rush him to the hospital. _Guy's got no friggin backbone._

“Dean.” 

Dean’s mind goes blank. “Ah…” but he scrambles to come up with something, anything that will keep him from descending into Alistair’s ‘Pit' of despair. 

Oh yes, Dean knows all about Alistair’s house, and the fucked up shit that goes on in there; he's not totally clueless. He knows all about Alistair’s kinks and the blood curdling rumors that surround the man. And it terrifies him. It's also the main reason why he can't let this happen. So he frantically searches his mind for a legitimate reason to keep from leaving with him, and comes up with, “Um…well…”

Yeah, not the most eloquent turn of phrase, but Dean is trying. It's not an easy task, either, not with the way Alistair’s beady eyes ruthlessly bore into him, insisting that he answer, demanding that he submit. 

Nevertheless, Dean gives it one more shot. “Look, Alistair, it's real nice of you to want to take care of me. But, I swear, I'm good. And besides,” he huffs, doing his damnedest to sound reasonable, “I don't want to be a bother. I'm sure you've got more important things to do, than play nurse to my dumb ass.” He snaps his fingers, and reminds Alistair, "What about the closing ceremony? Aren’t you announcing the winner?” 

Alistair smiles, leans in close and dashes Dean's last hope, “Castiel will do the honors." He says, pressing in closer and grazing Dean's jaw with his cold, thin, lips. "And I assure you," he adds, stealing a lungful of Dean's scent, "taking care of your 'dumb ass', is no bother." 

Well, that went about well as expected. 

“Um, I, ah, well, it's not that I don't want to go to your house,” Dean stammers, hopeless and pitiful, “it's just that-“

“Bass!”

“Oh man.” Aaron winces, startled by the angry tone in that voice.

“What the hell is going on?” It’s Chief Mills and she’s pissed. 

“Oh, hey there boss.” Arron waves as she approaches, shoulders hunched against the reaming he knows he's about to receive. “I was just about to start packing up. See, Dea-, I mean, Mr. Winchester, here, says he's okay. So I figured that he can, you know, go on his own recognizance, since he's apparently perfectly capable of looking after him-“ 

“Are you pulling my leg?” Jody cuts him off with a scowl, arms crossed over her chest.

Arron just wrings his hands, then nods stupidly, too afraid to know any better. 

“Bass,” she tsks sadly, “tell me, did your parents have any children that lived?”

Arron looks at her with wounded eyes, but just nods again.

“Oh for the love of…”

The two paramedic's exchange a few more words, several more nods, and a fair amount of disapproving frowns - all from Jody. But it's when Aaron admits how things unfolded – eyes surreptitiously darting to Dean with a silent plea to corroborate – that her intern’s shattered nerves, finally make sense to Jody. It was all Alistair's doing. The whole scene reeks of his bullying. 

"And since he's, you know, standing, and talking, and insisted that he was fine," Aaron explains, "well then, I just figured that he really doesn't need to see a doctor.”

“Did I hear you right?” Jody turns back to Aaron in stunned disbelief. “Since when do you get to make that call, Bass? You know you can't authorize a patient’s release.” 

Arron sputters in reply, he doesn't have that power, and he knows it. “I just thought that maybe this one time-“

“See,” she attacks, “that's where you made your mistake! You thought.” 

"But, boss, you don't understand. This guy,” he points to Alistair, “threatened to get the Mayor involved. And I know you don't want that, right? I mean the Mayor is super scary. Scarier even than him!” 

Jody laughs, a full-on, hearty, going-to-get-a-belly-ache-any-second-now, laugh. “Honestly, Bass,” she hiccups, catches her breath, eyes tearing at her intern’s pitiful cowardice, “I don't know why God bothered giving you a set of balls. You obviously don't know how to use them.”

“Now, now, Mills.” Alistair cuts Jody off and pats Aaron on the back. “There’s no need for insults. The boy was just doing his job. And doing it quite well." He adds, throwing Aaron a wink. "Why, I'll make sure I mention his stellar performance to my good friend, Mayor Milton.”

Jody harrumphs, snaps, “Cut the bullshit, Alistair, everybody knows Luke hates your guts.”

Alistair huffs derisively, sizes Jody up, and snorts. He's wary of her (Jody is whip-smart, well connected, and has never liked him) and with her in charge of Dean's case, there's no way he will be taking the boy home tonight. 

He'll just have to double his efforts. “Be that as it may, Mills," he says, stepping right up to her and breaching her personal space, "we are done here." He glares down at her, dares her to flinch, to relent, to release Dean into his care. "Dean is coming with me."

Jody covers a bored yawn with a cupped hand, tips her head up, and replies in a clear, calm, and totally collected voice, "No. He's. Not." 

Alistair snarls, an ugly guttural sound, but holds his tongue; he knows that outright threats, won't work against Jody. "Mills-" he says through tight lips, livid and eager to go, yet so utterly hell bent on squashing the infuriating woman smiling sweetly at him, that he's completely caught off guard (and nearly toppled over) by a young man that streaks past him, and collides right into Dean. 

Dean grunts from the impact and hits the ambulance’s side with a heavy thud. "The hell." He grumbles, dazed and damn achy, then yelping in surprise when large hands grab him by the arm, and haul him to his feet. "Sam!" He shouts, for once, overjoyed with his brother's timing. 


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel and Dean are attracted to one another, it's written all over their faces, from the way Dean’s eyes haven't strayed from Castiel’s face since they first joined the group, to the way the Chief stares right back at Dean, just as intense and just as heated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1000 apologies for posting sooooo late. Again.   
> Hope you enjoy this bit enough to forgive me. Let me know how I'm doing. Love feedback.

Dean can’t believe his luck, Sam is here and without knowing it has just saved him from Alistair’s clutches. "Sam!" He shouts again, beyond relieved. 

Sam is just as relieved to see his brother. “Dean,” he exhales, catching his breath, throat tight with emotion, "are you alright?” He asks, long arms pulling Dean into a a massive hug, then shoving him back far enough to deliver a hard jab to his shoulder. “Don't you ever do that to me, again!” 

“The hell!” Dean yelps, pushing Sam off, but he's not really upset, he couldn't be happier, as a matter of fact - even with the wind knocked out of him, and all of his aches and pains flaring angrily back to life (probably got another concussion, too) - Sam’s timing couldn't have been more perfect. 

Nevertheless, Dean smacks Sam back, not too hard, but he immediately regrets it; the look of genuine fear in Sam's eyes, is enough to chastise the devil himself. “Sorry, Sammy, it won't.” 

"Come on, you two, let an old man have his turn.” 

“Bobby,” Dean is stunned to see him there, too, “what the hell you doing here?” The question is brusk and rude, but he already knows the answer. 

"And why wouldn't I be here?” Bobby challenges. “I got just as much right as any of these yahoos to see the games. So what if took the day off, no big deal.” Yeah, like watching Dean fail is worth losing a day’s wages. “It's a good thing too,” he points out, “your brother and I got here just as you started the contest. And you did real good, too, Dean. I'm real proud of you.”

Dean’s jaw drops, snaps shut, then through gritted teeth, says, “That was twelve hours ago.” Now, he's upset. “I told you two not to waste your time coming down here! Jesus,” he huffs, growing more and more agitated, “you seriously closed the garage down for this?” He motions towards the beach, at himself, to the paramedics shuffling nearby. “Talk about a dumb move-“

“Now you watch how you talk to me, boy!” Bobby steps right up to Dean’s face, argues, “Dean, I know what this all means to you.” And he does. Bobby also happens to know how poorly Dean thinks of himself. “And for your information, ’cause apparently you're too damn pig-headed to believe that whatever the hell is important to you, is just as important to me,” he barks, voice growing louder, “there's nowhere else I’d rather be than right here, cheering your sorry ass on.” 

“I, I…” Dean stutters, then pauses. He briefly considers arguing against Bobby’s skewed perception of, well, everything, but wisely thinks better of it. “Thanks.” He says instead, patting Bobby on the shoulder, then crying out when Bobby gives him a sharp slap, in return. 

“I'm already hurt, remember?” 

“Is that so?” Bobby counters, smiling against his will. “Well, then, now we're even.” 

"That doesn't even make sense.” Dean says, returning his smile, glad the awkwardness is over. “Hey, how did you two even know where to find me?” They're in an area where only authorization personnel are allowed, no beach goers, pedestrians, or prying eyes, permitted. Dean scans their shirts for passes, I.Ds, anything that would grant them access, but finds none. “Well?”

Sam and Bobby exchange a look, then turn back to Dean.  
“It was Castiel.” Sam answers, brow quirking when Dean gapes. “He told us about what happened, brought us here, and then,” he shrugs, “escorted us in.” 

“You met Cas? How, I mean, where, when did you…I mean-"

Sam laughs at his brother's reaction. “Calm down, man. You got a fever or something?" He places his palm over Dean's forehead and whistles, "Wow, you do feel kinda hot. Wonder why?" He asks, then teases, "Could it be because of Casss?" 

_Am I that obvious?_ Dean hadn't meant to react with so much enthusiasm, but just hearing Castiel's name is enough to leave him floundering for words. He needs to deflect, there's no way Sam and Bobby can know about his pathetic crush on the man (they'd insist he pursue Castiel romantically, if they did) so he scoffs, “Pffft! Don't be…you're nuts.” And hopes it's enough to convince them that he's indifferent.

"Oh really?" Asks Sam, thoroughly unconvinced. "Then why are you acting all..." He makes a face, points to Dean's hands, mimics how they're clenching and unclenching, "...antsy?" 

Dean immediately stops. "What the hell do you mean?"

Sam just smiles, says, "Look I get it, the guy is totally your type. You like him, right?" 

"Like who?" Dean asks, carding his fingers through his hair. It's getting long, he notes (probably be giving Sam competition, soon) then wincing when his fingers brush over his injury. "Ow!" He hisses, then mutters, "Guess I won't be going to the barber any time soon."

Sam notices and pounces on his brother. "You okay?" He asks, his earlier teasing forgotten (much to Dean's relief). "Hey I know," he says, "maybe Cas can kiss it and make it all better." 

_Well, so much for that._

"Aww, come on Dean," Sam laughs, jumps out of striking range when Dean takes a swat at him, "don't get mad." He says, laughing even harder, "you know I'm right. Why deny it?" 

Dean glares at his brother. "Because there's nothing to deny." And there isn't, not really. Dean doesn’t like Castiel, much. And besides, it's not like Castiel likes him back. He hasn't even come by to see how Dean is doing. But that's actually a good thing; Castiel's mere presence would fluster Dean so badly, it would only serve to prove Sam right. 

"But Dean-"

"Shut it, Sam."

"But why don't you-"

"I said, zip-it."

"But-"

"Zip. It." 

"Fine," Sam throws his arms up, huffs dramatically, "have it your way."

"Good." Dean nods, satisfied the subject is dropped, but at the same time, eager to know the extent of Sam's interaction with Castiel, without letting on how torn up he is over him. 

"So," he starts, breaking the silence after Sam has calmed down, "you met Chief Milton, huh?" Dean avoids eye contact and asks his question while picking at a loose thread on the hem of his shorts.

Sam nods, but keeps quiet, he thinks he knows where this is going - what Dean is digging for - so he just keeps on nodding and doesn't interrupt.

"That was, ah…real nice of him to bring you two back here." Dean keeps his tone casual. "Real considerate. You know, that he brought you guys over, I mean. To me. To see me, I mean. Gotta tell him thanks, when I see him." He shrugs. "You know, when I get a chance.” 

Sam snorts, "Yeah, when you get a chance." And shakes his head, he doesn’t buy his brother’s act for one second. Dean 'likes' Castiel, and no matter how hard Dean tries to convince him otherwise, Sam won’t be fooled. 

Dean looks Sam in the eye and can practically see the wheels spinning in his head. “Sam, don’t.” 

“Dean, come on-“

“No, Sam. Whatever you’re thinking, you’re wrong. Okay. So just…don’t.” 

"Look, you're not fooling me, okay. You like him. Just admit it."

"I do not-"

"It's cool if you do, Dean."

"Sam, just drop it."

"And Castiel likes you back."

Dean's heart thuds a heavy beat at those words, but then he shakes his head, says, "You're wrong." And clings stubbornly to the impossibility of _that_ dream.

__

"No," Sam insists, "you're the one that's wrong-"

__

"Sam, I swear, if you don't drop this I..." Dean's words fade, not entirely sure what he's trying to say.

__

Scratch that, Dean knows exactly what he's trying to say; he wants Sam to get it through his thick skull that there will never be anything between him and Castiel. Because Castiel will never reciprocate. It's that simple. "Just trust me on this one, okay." He begs and hangs his head low.

It's a bitter truth, but undeniable,. He and Castiel only just met. There's no shared history or traumatic past that binds them. They're no better than strangers, really. And now, several minutes after being pulled from the water, head clearer, and with the bare facts laid out before him, Dean rethinks his earlier conviction, and doubts that it was Castiel who rescued him and Sam, that fateful night.

__

Dean’s heart sinks, it was never Castiel. He and his brother were rescued by Alistair that night, a young and inexperienced recruit who also miraculously managed to haul their drowning father to safety. An impressive feat, by anyone's standards. Alistair literally saved all three Winchester men, while the other lifeguard on duty, failed tragically at his task. 

__

Dean can't recall the other lifeguard's name, but he's always blamed him for his mother's death - as well as every shitty day he's had to live without her. 

__

_What was that guy’s name? Michael, something or other._

__

Dean can't believe he's forgotten the other lifeguard's name, he was hopelessly obsessed with him for years. Dean even vowed to hunt down the guy's loved ones, confront them, teach them the meaning of pain, share with them the intensity and extreme heights of his grief. Give them a taste of all of the misery he's had to deal with since the age of four. But that never happened. Looking after his little brother, and taking care of his ailing father, left him no time to carry out his revenge.

__

But that didn't stop Dean from hating him. Sure, the guy fucked up real bad, but he paid the ultimate price, and all while trying to save his mom. Best to forget about him, let go of the hate and focus on his future. On his family's future.

__

Sam drones on beside Dean, but Dean doesn't hear him, he's too distracted with thoughts of 'what-ifs', or, 'if onlys', to pay his brother any mind. He looks over his shoulder and spots Alistair standing with a small group of lifeguards – the Captain stepped aside as soon as Dean's family showed up, giving them their privacy. A considerate move on his part, or at least that's how it seemed. Either way, Dean noticed.

__

_God, and I've been such a dick to him._ Dean could kick himself, he's behaved like such a jerk to the one person that deserves better than that, the one being that has earned Dean's gratitude. 

__

Alistair saved them. It’s a fact. Old news that instantly elevated Alistair to stardom, and set his life course on an ever rising trajectory. Dean doesn’t doubt it anymore. 

__

“Damn it.” Dean mutters, low and bitter, disappointment that it wasn’t Castiel, curdling in his gut. He was just imagining things earlier; it was just... wishful thinking. 

__

"Dean?” 

__

Dean blames the roughness of the sea and the blow to his head, for his fucked up confusion. 

__

“Yo, Dean.” 

__

But it’s just as well, even if it had been Castiel, Dean still wouldn’t have had a chance with him; the guy is way out of his league.

__

“Dean!” Sam calls his brother’s name a third time, shouts it right against Dean’s ear, and Dean jerks as if slapped. 

__

"Man,” Sam exhales, relieved he finally got a reaction, “how hard did you hit your head?" He asks, smacking Dean lightly on the cheek then quickly stuffing his hands into his pockets when he sees how badly they're shaking. "You, um, haven't heard a word I've said, have you?" 

__

Dean drops his eyes; Sam’s right, he’s been too busy tormenting himself over his painful losses – starting with his mother and ending with Castiel – to fully focus on whatever Sam was saying. 

__

"Sorry.” Dean apologizes, forgetting all about Sam’s teasing. "Guess I am a little bit out of it.” But then perks up and says, “Hey, there’s someone I want you to meet.” Dean calls out to Alistair and waves him over. He’s going to set things right with the older man and ask him to join them; it’s only fair. Alistair, more than anyone else, deserves to be standing with them, he's earned that right. 

__

Sam looks at the small cluster of people his brother is waving too, tries to see if Castiel is amongst them, but when he sees that he's not, wonders who Dean is calling over.

__

"Anyway," Dean says, turning back to face Sam, "he’ll be right over. Oh, what were we talking about?" 

__

"It was...nothing." Sam says, just glad to have his brother back.

__

Dean rolls his eyes, "Yeah right." Dean feels like a real jerk for spacing out in his brother the way he did, so he asks again, "Stop your whining and spill." 

__

""Well," Sam smirks, "if you insist." 

Dean's eyes grow large; he just remembered. "Wait, no-"

Sam's smile grows even wider. "No what?" He asks, all wide eyes and innocence. 

"I remember, okay. So don't start-"

Sam quirks a brow, answers, "Don't start what?" Then scans the area, snapping his fingers when he spots his target, "Oh, you mean don't start on Cas." He points to the man in question, then asks Dean, “And why not?" 

__

Dean follows Sam’s finger, and his breath stutters, throat clicking on a dry swallow when his eyes land on Castiel. The Chief is standing in profile, arms crossed, legs hip width apart, and arguing, upset about something. He's with Jody, and even from a distance, Dean can see he's exercising restraint, bridling his energy, controlling his temper, and with the flames from a nearby bonfire casting him in shades of gold and amber, Castiel looks like a God: wrathful, terrifying, and utterly beautiful.

__

Sam shoves Dean to get his attention, he longer doubts Castiel is the reason behind his brother's lack of focus. “Why can't I talk about him? He's your boss, isn't he?” 

__

Dean shoves Sam back, snaps, “Quit it Sam, you're making my headache worse.” Then looks back at Castiel. He takes a deep breath (gazing at the Chief seems to have sucked all of the oxygen from his lungs) and for a fleeting moment considers asking him over, too. Maybe Castiel would like join them, come over and see how Dean is doing. He did, after all, rescue Dean, this time. But nah, he's probably too busy with the competition, the drills, judging, then announcing the top recruit. Castiel wouldn't want to leave all of that just to see Dean. Especially not after Dean failed so spectacularly. 

__

No, Dean isn't going to call him over, why humiliate himself further. Saving Dean was just another heroic act for Castiel, another notch on his belt, another rescue to add to his ever growing list of good deeds. Probably just another ‘day in the life’, for Chief Milton. 

__

“You're being crazy, Dean. And if you don't call him over,” Sam threatens, “then I will.”

__

“Wait! You're what?” Dean hadn't meant to say any of those things out loud, he never has before, but Castiel makes him careless.

__

“Besides,” Sam reasons, ignoring Dean’s obvious discomfort, “he's your boss. I’m sure he wants to make sure you're gonna be okay.” 

__

"Sam, no!” Dean grabs Sam’s wrist, growls, “Quit being such a nosy pest. The guy was just being nice!” 

__

“What the hell are you talking about?” Bobby finally jumps in, stares Dean down - a glare he's used countless of times whenever he wants Dean to be reasonable. “You ever meet that man? Well I did, and let me tell you, that fella was practically begging us to go fetch him after we looked you over. He cares, son, and not for one second did he seem ‘bothered’ by the idea of checking up on you." 

__

Bobby turns back to Sam, says, "Go get him Sam. I want to thank him again for saving this idiot."

__

"Sam, I said, no!"

__

“Dean, think about it, he's your boss, okay, you're not a bother to him. He really cares about you.” 

__

But Dean won't listen, he gets angry instead, and panics. “Sam, don't bother him! Can't you see the guy’s busy!”

__

“Dean, you’re talking nuts!” Sam shakes Dean off, wonders what the hell is wrong with his brother. “The guy has a right to to know how you're doing, especially since your gonna be working for him-“ 

__

“Actually,” Alistair interjects, appearing out of nowhere, “ _I'm_ Dean's boss. Sam is it?"

__

...

Alistair and Meg have been chatting quietly, although intensely, for the past few minutes, when Dean calls his name. Alistair nods in reply, then grins when Dean waves him over. He quickly wraps up the conversation - leaves a fuming Meg behind - and starts back.

He's angry, and rightly so, but he's careful not to show it. He misjudged the situation, was careless, hesitated when he needed to act, and missed innumerable opportunities. But he won't be making those same mistakes again. He's going to set things right, seize the moment, and finally follow through with his plans. As long as Meg does as she's told.

Alistair takes his time walking back, he doesn't want to scare or alarm Dean by coming off as 'too eager'. But when he hears Dean's brother speak Castiel's name, then point in his direction, Alistair quickens his pace.

...

"Huh?"

"The name is Alistair," Alistair repeats, relieved he reached them in the nick of time. "Captain Alistair," he clarifies, patting Sam condescendingly on the cheek, "and as I was saying, I'm your brother’s boss, not Chief Milton.”

"But I thought-“ 

“You thought it was Castiel?” Alistair tsks. “No, my dear boy, that honor goes to me. Chief Milton has no authority over my recruits. And as for Dean, even though he failed," he says pointedly, "I'm willing to forgive his performance and take him under my wing. For old times sake,” He laughs, “I'm the boss, you see, so I get to call the shots.”

"That's not an entirely accurate statement. Wouldn't you agree, Alistair?"

Alistair does a comical double-take, stutters, “M-Mayor Milton…” and offers his hand to be shaken, quickly withdrawing it when he sees Jody and Castiel at his heels. "What brings you here?” He asks, falling back a step.

“I asked him here.” Jody replies, annoyed she had to go to that extreme. But Alistair forced her hand, and she had no choice. “I had to, with you being so damn bullheaded, well, you left me no choice. Last thing I wanted was to bother the Mayor with this nonesense.” 

The Mayor tuts, “Now Jody, none of that. I'm always here for you. You know that.” He turns his eye on Alistair, grins, “Now, where was I…oh yes, Alistair.” He strides past Jody, squeezes by Sam (not before giving the teen an inappropriate, once-over) and positions himself between Dean and Alistair. “Now what was that you were saying, Captain?" 

Alistair searches his mind for the right answer, stares dumbly for a few seconds, then finally says, "I was just informing Dean’s family that he has a job. Under me. That I'll be the one to personally train him."

"And why would you go and say a thing like that?” Luke asks, tone civil, but glacial. “You know you're not the one that gets to hire, or fire, anyone. Not unless I deem it so.”

Dean’s poor heart plummets; he knew it was too good to be true. He's out of the running and out of a job, he's let his family down, and has failed.

"Now you just wait a second-" Bobby starts, he's got a few choice words he'd like to share with Mayor, an opinion or two that probably won't sit well with the man, but damn it, his boy deserves better than what the Mayor is suggesting.

But the Mayor turns a deaf ear to Bobby’s gruff bark and addresses Dean, instead. “You must be Dean Winchester.” He says, all silk-smooth politician charm, revved up to blinding levels. "Mayor Milton", he adds and presses in closer. - the calculated move non-to-subtly forces Alistair from Dean's personal space. “I heard all about how well you did out there. How you excelled." He smiles brightly, patting Dean on the shoulder, "There were even a few comparisons between you and Castiel.” 

Luke makes the claim with genuine pride, looks over his shoulder to gauge Castiel’s reaction but stops short when he sees the look on his brother's face. Castiel and Dean are attracted to one another, it's written all over their faces, from the way Dean’s eyes haven't strayed from Castiel’s face since they first joined the group, to the way the Chief stares right back at Dean, just as intense and just as heated.

Luke smiles to himself and throws his brother an all knowing wink. “You must come by the manor.” He announces, throwing a nod to Bobby and Sam, as well. “All of you, of course. You’ll be my special guests.” Then to Castiel, adds, “And who knows, maybe with you there, _Dean_ , Castiel will join us. Yes..." He hums, "maybe, you’ll be the bait that finally lures my baby brother back into the nest."

"Luke!" Castiel has heard enough. He storms up to his brother, warns, "Mind what you say. Dean is tired and hurt. He’s in no condition for your idiotic teasing.” 

Luke grins, delighting in Castiel's reaction. "My apologies, little brother. I meant no offense." It's been months since he's seen Castiel, even longer since they've spoken, and he misses him terribly. But if it means taunting his brother to get him to speak with him, then that's what he'll do. "I was just simply stating a fact.”

Castiel grits back, “And I'm simply _stating_ that you need check your ‘facts’ first, before you run your mouth off.”

"Cassie, please, there's no need to get so defensive. I only want to see you happy.” 

Castiel's jaw clenches, he knows what Luke is trying to do (he's been victim to his brother's unintentional, as well as intentional, torment, all of his life) but now is not the time to reopen old wounds.

He counts to ten, then counts to twenty, and when he's certain his brother is safe (for the time being) from getting a fist to his face, says, "Luke, for the umpteenth time, I am happy. Despite your lies and betrayals, I am...fine"

Luke barks a laugh, counters, “Please brother, don't play the heartbroken victim with me." It's said with amusement and with complete skepticism, he knows Castiel is full of shit. "You know it was never meant to be. That your brief romance was doomed to fail from the start.”

"Be that as it may," Castiel growls back, hackles up and now willing to fight; he's not about to be lectured by his duplicitous brother, "stay out of my life. I don't want your help.”

“Well, you may not want it, but you certainly need it. According to the reports I've been getting, Castiel, you are one very lonely man. Miserable, and broody. And if you're not careful, you'll end up an old spinster!"

“And I assure you, _brother_ , that your sources have greatly exaggerated the state of my affairs!”

“Is that so?” Luke challenges, “And exactly which part was exaggerated?” He asks, enjoying this vicious little repartee with Castiel too much too regret it. "That you're bitter?

"Bitter!" Thunders Castiel. "Perhaps if you hadn't betrayed-"

“Okay, you two, knock it off!” Jody steps between the two large men and shuts them up. “I knew I shoulda handled this myself.” She mutters, sick and tired with the Milton brother’s typical bickering. "Winchester," she snaps, directing her ire towards Dean, "get your ass back in that ambulance. We're leaving. Now.”

Dean had hoped the paramedics had forgetten all about him. “Please, ah…Ms. Mills, I’m good." He lies, thumping a closed fist hard against his chest. "You don't have to waste your time on-”

But Jody has had enough and ignores his pleas. "Listen Winchester, you don't get to tell me what to do. And if I say you're getting in, you, are getting in.”

“But-“

“Dean,” Castiel steps next to Jody, lays a calming hand on her shoulder, and with his eyes locked on Dean, pleads, “listen to Jody. You need to get checked out. Please go with her."

Dean knows when he's lost the battle, when he's been 'licked'; there's no way he could ever deny Castiel's baby blues. He lets loose a long weary sigh and replies, "Fine. I'll go. It's just that I, ah, didn't want to miss the closing ceremony. I wanted see how my friends did.” The admission is true, Dean has only known the other candidates for a day, but he feels an odd kinship with them. 

"Dean..." Castiel starts, locking his knees to keep from swooning. He already knew he’d fallen hard for Dean, admires him a great deal, too. But seeing the young man – who must be exhausted, not to mention in pain – sacrifice his own well being just so he can offer his friends support when they need it the most, triples his esteem.

"I'll stay out of everybody's way." Dean volunteers, knowing he's already asking for too much. "I know I'm not allowed back there anymore, so I'll just, you know...wait with the rest of the crowd."

"But Dean, what makes you think that?" Castiel is honestly flummoxed as to why Dean would think he wouldn't have absolute access everywhere.

"Don't take a genius to figure that out, Cas, I blew it. I know it. You saw it. The Mayor said as much."

Castiel shoots his brother a withering glare, "Your post on the rescue squad was guaranteed hours ago." He tells Dean, eyes large and apologetic. "As far back as the third trial." Dean was flawless, from start to finish, and it astounds Castiel that Dean doesn't already know all of that. "Dean, you performed, magnificently.”

Dean can't believe what he's hearing. His jaw drops, his spirits lift, but then as usual, doubt sinks in. "But the Mayor-"

"Didn't want an underling with an overblown sense of self-worth to steal his thunder." Luke supplies, patting Castiel on the shoulder. “Of course you're hired, Dean. Hiring you is the easy part, it was unanimous."

Castiel shrugs his brother's hand off, says, “It's true Dean. You even impressed Meg. And I assure you, that is no easy feat.” He and Dean share a small secretive smile, hands itching to reach out and touch, "So, yes, technically, Dean, you're already hired." 

Bobby cough-laughs into his closed fist. "God help that boy." He murmurs, then to Dean, hollers, "Told you you'd get in, Dean. Congrats, son!"

Sam whoops, fist pumps the air. "Yeah, way to go Dean!”

And Castiel beams, he's just as happy for Dean as they are, if not more so. “And regardless of how you score on tomorrow's written exam-" he says, stopping mid-sentence when a troubling thought occurs to him. He looks over to Jody, eyes wide and beseeching, a silent plea for her help. "That is, if you're well enough to take the tests." 

"Don't look at me." She tells him, immune to Castiel's innumerable charms. Not really. "Fine," she huffs, arms shooting up in surrender, "as long as the doctor says he can go take the test, tomorrow, then he can."

Castiel nods, smiles, it's enough for him. "There you go, then. I'll see you tomorrow, Dean.”

Luke smirks beside him, “Way to be subtle, little brother.” Then to Dean, adds, "Yes, Mr. Winchester, even though you're already a full fledged member of our family, you still have to show up, take your tests, and get your assignment."

"Wait, so...you're really serious?" Dean still can't quite believe his luck. "This is for real?" Because it can't be. He fucked up. Royally. There's no way he'd get placed after what happened.

Then again...

He did win all of the other challenges, outperformed all of the other contestants, and would have been the clear winner if it hadn't been for that damn knock to his head.

"Congratulations, Dean." Castiel reaches past Luke to grasp Dean's shoulder. "You've earned it." 

"Thanks, Cas," he answers softly, a barely there whisper meant only for Castiel's ears, then to everyone else, "Um, thanks, Mayor, everybody, really. I'm...I'm really grateful."

A few seconds later...

"Alright then," Castiel announces, getting everyone's attention, "now that that's settled, please listen to Jody, and go to the hospital."

"Aw, come on Cassie, let the kid stay."

Castiel's head whips around. "Gabriel," he says, trying his best to keep his annoyance from seeping into his tone, "why aren't you at your post?" He looks past the barrier that separates the area in which they're all standing, and scans the training field. It's dark, and even with the beach lit up with a myriad of floodlights and the glow of the roaring bonfire, it's difficult to see much of anything.

He does however, spot Meg's silhouette. She's standing apart from the few remaining candidates (their bowed heads deep in conversation) yawning and checking her wristwatch. Castiel feels a twinge of guilt at the sight; he should get back, hand out the awards, announce their hard won placement, and close the ceremony.

 _But first, I need to take care of Dean._ It's the easiest choice he's ever had to make.

Gabriel struts up to the assembled group, salutes Luke, "S'up, big bro," slaps Castiel on the back, "little bro." And kisses Jody's hand. "Lovely as ever." He tells her, spinning on his heel and crying out when he sees Dean. "Dean-o!" He cries, tipping an imaginary hat to Bobby and Sam, and completely ignoring Alistair. 

"Gabriel?"

Gabriel sidles back towards Castiel, rests his elbow on his much taller brother's shoulder, and asks, "Yeah?"

Castiel shrugs him off, pinches the bridge of his nose, and with his last ounce of patience, asks, "Why aren't you minding the candidates?"

"Oh, that." Gabriel motions towards the beach. "Meg sent me to see what's the hold up. Kids are getting anxious. I'm getting anxious. Meg is well..." He makes devil's horns with his fingers, "...evil."

"Get back out there." Castiel orders, patience at an end, breathing fire while Luke chuckles softly from behind. "Get everything ready for the final ceremony. I'll join you in a minute."

Gabriel grins at his brother; he finds a pissed off Castiel, all sorts of adorable. "Sorry," he replies, unwrapping a piece of candy and popping it into his mouth, "but no can do."

Castiel snaps, "What do you mean, no?" He's exhausted, tired, limbs heavy and eager for bed. "Gabriel, don't try my patience-"

"Hey, don't get all pissy with me." Gabriel shoots back. "It's not that I don't want to, okay, but technically it's still my day off. Well, more like my night off, at this point. But you know what I mean-"

"Gabriel!"

"And besides," he continues, unperturbed by Castiel's threatening tone, "Kali just called. She wants me home, stat."

Castiel drags his fingers to his throbbing temples, rubs at the area absently, "Fine," he says, "just...please inform Meg that I'll be there shortly."

"Sounds like a plan." Gabriel says, then to Dean, "Come on kid, let's go."

"Absolutely not. Winchester is going to the hospital-"

"Mills, surely you can wait a few more minutes." Luke interjects, pleading Dean's case when he sees how Dean's face falls. "Mr. Winchester deserves to hear the announcements, learn his placement. Finally learn that he will indeed be training under Castiel. Aren't I right, Castiel?"

Castiel's face flares red-hot. "Well, I suppose-"

"No!" Alistair startles everyone; they had all forgotten he was there. He's been waiting for the opportunity to whisk Dean away, but the situation has turned critical, and it's time to make his stand. "Dean is one of mine." He reminds them.

"What on Earth are you prattling on about?" The Mayor asks, turning a cunning eye on Alistair.

"Dean has already been placed in my squad." Alistair clarifies. 

"Don't be ridiculous." Scoffs Luke. 

"Dean is the one decides with whom he wants to partner." Grits Castiel.

"He forfeited that right the moment he lost the last trial." Counters Alistair.

"And you know perfectly well that he would have won." Argues Castiel. "The choice is therefore, his."

"Rules are rules, Castiel. You, of all people should appreciate that. I, for one, am following them." Alistair feels triumphant, Dean is rightfully his to train, to teach and instruct, and he has the rules to back him up. 

"Rules you say?" Asks Luke, stepping right up to Alistair, eyes narrowed and calculating, but he's smiling, too, highly amused about...something. "If that's the case, then by all rights, as stated in your guide books, Dean does, in fact, belong to Castiel."

"You're wrong." Alistair snarls, grip tightening on Dean's shoulder. "Dean was placed on my team from the start. He lost, and therefore has no say in his placement. He stays with me." 

"Not so fast." Luke grabs Alistair's hand and pulls it off of Dean, then wipes his own with a white handkerchief, before resuming. "It's true, Dean lost. But why?" He asks, then snaps his fingers, "Oh, I know. Because he was busy being rescued. And according to your precious, ironclad rules, the 'rescuer', that's Castiel, may choose to train the 'rescuee', Dean in this case, on how to improve their ocean-skills so as to avoid any future rescuing, and so on, and so forth, blah, blah, blah."

"That's not what...no, that doesn't apply-"

Castiel rounds on Alistair, "Face it, Alistair," he says, face, a mask of fury, “Dean will _not_ be training with you. He will train with me, if that's what he wants. And all according to your edicts."

"Well, if that's the case, then kid belongs to me." They all turn at the sound of Meg's voice. "If you're going to get all technical about it, that is." 

“Ms. Masters," Luke calls to her, lighting up brighter than the fire raging on the beach, "How lovely to see you." He says, whispering something in her ear then kissing her tenderly on the cheek. "Now, what's this you're saying about our newest lifeguard?"

Meg smiles at the handsome Mayor, cheeks a pretty pink when she replies, "Just that the kid belongs to me. I saved him, practically carried him out of the water, too. So..." She says, turning from Luke to catch Castiel's eye, "he's mine. And I'm going to keep him."

"Meg-" Castiel starts, silenced by the soft press if her lips against his.

"Hi there, baby.” She coos, body flush against Castiel's, fingers laced through his. "Come on," she tugs, "Let's finish this up. I wanna go home."

"But Meg," Castiel tries to pull his hand free, but Meg holds fast and doesn't let go. "Please-" he pleads, embarrassed by her actions, terrified by Dean's reaction; he doesn't dare look his way. "Stop this.” He hisses, leaning low to whisper, “You know how I feel." Then straightens and announces, "I, ah, apologize for the delay, Meg. We're almost finished here-"

"No," Jody says, cutting through the evening's ever growing bullshit. "you're finished now. We're leaving. Come on Winchester, haul ass. Bass! Start the damn van!"

"Mills, what's a few more min-"

"No," Dean says, throat so tight he has to swallow, eyes glued to Castiel and Meg’s linked hands, "I'm ready to go." He tells her, biting back the pain that's threatening to overwhelm him. "Let's get outta here."

"But Dean, you said you wanted to see how it ends." Sam reminds him.

Dean shakes his head and hops into the ambulance. "N'ah, Sammy," he says, "I've already seen...too much." He drops his eyes, mumbles, "I'll see you guys at home."

"Of for Pete's sake." Bobby fishes for his car keys, head reeling from _whateverthehell_ it is that just happened between his nephew and Castiel, and snaps, "Shut up, Dean. We’ll meet you at the hospital." Then ushers a very disgruntled Sam, towards the parking lot. 

…

It's a minute later, and the remaining group stares dumbly at the retreating ambulance. Gabriel scowls at Meg, Luke hums, Alistair silently seethes.

Castiel finally wrenches his hand free from Meg’s grasp and without bothering to look at her, says, "That was a cheap trick, Meg.” 

"Baby?” She replies, eyes batting innocently. But she's not fooling anyone, Meg is shit at acting the innocent victim.

Castiel doesn't reply, he doesn't even look her way, he just turns his back on her and walks towards the training field, Gabriel and Luke at his wake.

When the coast is clear, Alistair corners Meg, grabs her by the arm, and steers her into a dark corner. "Nicely done." He commends. "But sloppy." He gives her a rough shake, whispers, "You need to improve on your technique, if we're to get what's rightfully ours.” He gives her another rough shake, adds, “Now go do the job I specifically trained you for, so we can both get what we want."

“Get your hands off me!" She fires back, backbone straight. "Just who the hell do you think you're dealing with? Huh? One of your puppets?" Meg's just about done with Alistair's bull-shit, and no longer afraid to let him know it. 

"I want that boy." He repeats, spitting the words onto her upturned face. "But he and Castiel want each other. And it's up to us to nip that romance right in the bud."

Meg wipes at her face, laughs at him, scoffs, “And you expect me to do your bidding just...because you have some dirt on me?" she shakes her head, laughs some more, "Well, boss, you've got another thing coming."

"So that's it? Are you really going to tell me you're no longer interested in Castiel?” He snorts, “You can't lie to me, girl. I know you want him back. Why deny it?"

Meg can't. Because she does. Despite her feelings for Luke, she misses Castiel. "And what else would you have me do?” She asks, as if she didn't already know.

"I say we formulate a plan. One that will paint Dean in a not so flattering light." It's the only logical thing to do. "Castiel is so pompous and prissy, a holier-than-though little shit that couldn't stand, let's say," he taps his chin, "a promiscuous Dean. An unfaithful lover. A cheat.” He grins. “Don't you think?"

Alistair's words hit home; Meg can't argue any of that. It's the reason Castiel ended their relationship, in the first place. "I guess." She agrees, but she's still wary. She doesn't trust Alistair, but she does want Castiel back, so she decides to listen to his plan. "Okay. What do you want me to do?" 


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel can't understand why anyone would ever hurt Dean. Dean is the best person he knows, worthy of complete fidelity. Why, if Dean and he were a couple, Castiel would make it his life's mission to make Dean happy, fill every single day and every single moment with joy, kindness, and love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cut this chapter in half. Yeah, there's a whole other half coming. Not sure if ithis story will be 13 chapters, or more now.  
> Nevertheless, I really hope you enjoy it.
> 
> Typos, grammar, mistakes, apologies for them

An especially powerful wave slams against the starboard side, catches Mary off guard, and knocks her over. 

“Mommy!” Dean shrieks, scrambling to his feet and bolting after her. He races straight to where he last saw her, baby brother secure in his arms, and yells, “Mommy!” Over and over. 

The boat's erratic lurching makes it difficult to get a firm grip on the handrail, but somehow, Dean manages. “S’okay, s’okay-“ he repeats to the baby, as well as to himself, eyes darting everywhere in a desperate search for his mother. But she's nowhere in sight; the dark of the night and the boat's wild bucking, coupled with the storm’s vicious assault, makes it impossible to see. But it does make it easy to loose one's footing, slip beneath the rail’s slats, and fall into the merciless ocean.

Both boys are submerged in seconds. Dean opens his mouth to scream, but chokes, he can't breathe, can't see, and he's terrified. He reaches blindly for his brother, for his mommy, for daddy, panicking when no one reaches back. 

He's going to drown. But if he drowns, so will Sammy. 

"Help-" he cries out, arms and legs thrashing in the current. "Sam!" He yells, but his cry is cut short when large hands grab him, and press him flush against a hard body. 

"You're safe now." An unfamiliar boy's voice promises. 

“M-m,mom-“ Dean tries, “S-Sam-“ he coughs, but when neither reply, Dean begins to cry.

"Shh..." The boy shushes, “I've got you.” He says. 

But it only makes Dean cry louder. "Sammy!” He shouts, eyes clenched tightly against the horrors of the night. 

“Sam?" The voice asks, tone steady despite Dean's building hysteria. “Is this Sam?” He asks, urging Dean to open his eyes. “Look, he's here! Look, look, Sam is safe! I promise! You're both safe! I've got you! I won't let you go, I promise!” 

But Dean won't listen, he screws his eyes shut even tighter, and keeps crying. 

“Sam is right here." The boy insists. "See, look, look.” But no matter how hard he persists, he's unable to convince Dean that Sam, is indeed, with them. Until one of Sam's tiny fists connects with Dean's mouth. 

"Sammy!” Dean shrieks, eyes popping open.

“That's right." The boy says, relief in his voice. "Sam is safe. And so are you."

Dean blinks the rain away, hiccups through several breaths, and then their eyes connect. "Wow." He mouths, eyes widening with childlike wonder. "Are you an angel?" He asks.

The boy smiles back, despite the horrific circumstances, he finds the child clinging to him, remarkable. "I want you to hold onto my neck." He orders.

And Dean does as he's told, pulls Sam closer with one arm, while wrapping the other tightly around his savior’s neck. 

"That's good,” the boy grunts, securing both children in one arm, then swimming towards a waiting craft.

Dean holds on for dear life, tucks a wriggling Sam between his body and the angel's, then buries his face in the boy's neck. Dean draws a deep breath, drops a small kiss into the warm space, and whispers, "Thanks, Cas." 

"You're welcome, Dean." 

The deep timbre of Castiel's voice reverberates through Dean, and it feels good, like no harm will come to him as long as he's in Castiel's arms. "Cas," he starts, wondering if Castiel would like to ride with him to the hospital. He shifts and lifts his head, adjusts his body so that he and a fully grown Castiel are now nose to nose, and their bodies aligned from chest to toe. "wanna ride in the ambulance with me?" 

But Castiel doesn't reply, he just keeps swimming, strong steady strokes that carry an adult Dean away from the buoy, and closer to safety. 

But Dean really wants Castiel to accompany him to the hospital, it's possible Castiel didn't hear him the first time. So he asks again, louder this time. "Cas!" He shouts, desperate to get the Chief's attention. "You wanna go to the hospital with me?" He repeats, yelling because of the high level of noise all around them - from the roar of the wind, to the screech of the gulls, as well as the other candidates chattering noisily nearby - the din is deafening.

But Castiel keeps on swimming, steady and unwavering, oblivious to Dean's building panic. 

"Cas," Dean shouts again, twisting and trying to break free from Castiel's grip; he just remembered that his mother is still lost in the ocean. "Cas...wait!" he pleads, frantic to swim back. 

But Castiel keeps swimming on, fully focused on his goal, unyielding in his pace. Maddening. 

"Cas, wait-" Dean cries out, fighting to get loose, "you're going the wrong way!" 

Still, Castiel swims, on and on, silent and robotic, dragging Dean closer to the shore and further from his mother. 

"Cas, no!" Dean yells. "Please Cas, please. We can't go! Please, Cas, not without my mom!"

...

"Please Cas, please...-"

"Dean?”

"Cas, we have to get my mom...please...please-"

"Dean, wake up."

"No, we can't go...have to get back."

"Dean, wake up. You're having a nightmare-"

"Please Cas, please get my mommy...Cas!"

Dean bolts upright, cry caught in his throat. Heart racing, he looks around, but doesn't recognize his surroundings. 

"Dean?" 

It all comes back to him. He's in the hospital. He turns to see who's with him, and finds himself face to face with Jo’s friend, Lisa Breadon.

"Lisa? What...why are you here?"

Lisa smiles, disarming and kind. “And hello to you too." She answers. 

Dean quirks a grin at her; the girl is lovely, the negative effects of his nightmare already fading, thanks to her presence.

"I'm here with Jo and Charlie." She explains, pointing towards the door. "They're getting coffee." 

"Aww man, you guys shouldn't have come. I'll be out later, coulda saved yourself a trip-"

"Dean," Lisa interrupts, "if it were up to Jo...no, if it were up to us," she stresses, "we would have been here last night. So you shut your mouth with that kind of talk. Okay?"

Dean's grin grows. Lisa is lovely and sassy. Maybe it's not to late to take Jo up on her offer. "Thanks. But still-"

"But nothing." She insists, smacking him on the thigh, then asks, "What's so funny?"

Dean laughs, "Just picturing the ruckus Jo caused when they told her she couldn't come visit me."

Lisa agrees and they both laugh. "Yeah, it wasn't a pretty sight." A beat later, brow smooth and adopting a more serious tone, she asks "So, ah, how are you feeling?"

Dean's automatic answer would be that he's fine, great even, especially if he were feeling extra shitty. "Not good, Lis." he replies honest, and it surprises him, but he can't help it, one look at the genuine concern in her gaze, and he caves. 

Or maybe it's the painkillers, his feelings of inadequacy, the need to unburden himself and share his grief. Or maybe it's remembering how badly he fucked up with Castiel, and the painful knowledge that he never stood a chance with him in the first place. 

"Not good at all." He repeats.

"I'm sorry to hear that." She replies softly, edging closer to sit next to him. "But you know, if you ever need an ear..." 

Dean scoots over and offers her a spot. And when Lisa settles in, then places her arm around his shoulder, he's extremely grateful for the physical contact. 

They stay in that position for a full minute before Dean speaks again. 

"I was having an nightmare."

"I know. You were talking..." She tells him, but doesn't elaborate, unsure how much Dean is ready to share. "I tried to wake you."

"Geese, sorry about that. I-"

"Stop apologizing."

"Sorr...I mean, yeah. Okay. Anyway, ah, it was about my mom. About the night she drowned." 

Lisa's arm tightens around him. "I didn't know-"

"Course you didn't." He shrugs, dropping his head into the warm curve of her neck, making himself comfortable. "I never talk about it." 

He adjusts his position a little bit more, drapes an arm over her lap, and plows on. "Although, I used to dream about it all the time. For years, actually. But then the dreams just sorta petered out. No more nightmares, at least not about that. Until..." He pauses, recalling the exact moment his nightmares started up again, voice thick with emotion when he speaks again. "I don't know what happened. They just...started all over again." 

It's not much of an explanation, but it's the best he can offer without completely falling apart; he's not ready to open up to that degree with anyone, not quite yet, if ever. 

Lisa hums in reply, strokes his shoulder, squeezes his hand; it's all the push Dean needs to continue.

"But they're different than before." He starts again. "This time, they're not just dreams. They're like, really real. It's like they're really fresh and vivid, 3-D almost, like...like it all just happened. Again. Like it happened again." 

"Oh, Dean-" Lisa soothes then presses her lips against his temple, wraps him in the safe cocoon of her arms, "I'm so sorry." 

She holds him like that for a long moment: Dean tries not to sniffle, buries his face in her neck, folds his body into the comforting curve of her arms. And she cradles him, whispers softly into his hair, murmurs encouragements, endearments, cups his cheek, and every so often, kisses his forehead.

The scene is incredibly tender, undeniably intimate; a young couple finding solace in each others arms, love in bloom. 

At least, that's how it looks to Castiel.

Heart thudding dully in his chest, he has to bite his tongue to keep from crying out - feels like he got kicked in the gut. He needs to leave before they see him. So he turns noiselessly from Dean's room, and rushes down the corridor. 

Castiel curses at himself, he never should have listened to his brothers, he never should have come to see Dean, and he was a complete idiot for thinking Dean might be interested in being more than just friends with him, especially after what happened last night. 

Castiel spots the bank of elevators and heads to the nearest one, arm reaching out to press the button. But he's so focused on his escape, that he runs right into Jo and Charlie and has to jump back, in order to avoid knocking them down.

"Whoa!" Jo cries out." Dude, where's the fire...oh, sorry, Chief." She says, apologizing when she realizes it's Chief Milton.

"Ms. Harvelle, Ms. Bradbury.” Castiel huffs, winded - but not because if them - although grateful that he didn't cause them to upend their hot drinks. "My apologies. I...I didn't see you."

"Hey, it's okay, Chief, no harm done." Charlie replies, holding out her arms to prove she's unscathed. 

"Still, I...well, that was very careless of me," he stammers, looking over his shoulder as if expecting to see someone coming at him, "and I, I could have...you could have been hurt."

Jo and Charlie trade glances, the Chief's behavior is confusing, completely unlike the way he behaved yesterday. But they shrug it off, they've only known him for a day. Perhaps this is the real him: a jittery, stuttering mess.

But it seems unlikely, as Chief of the O.R.S., Castiel is expected to keep his cool. Especially in times of duress. It's his job to remain calm, level-headed, steadfast, in any and all situations. 

"Ah, Chief, are you okay?" Charlie asks, taking a cautious step closer.

"Wait, did you just go see Dean?" Jo wants to know, noticing the direction from which he came.

Castiel opens his mouth to deny it, to lie and to tell her that she's wrong. He wants to forget everything having to do with Dean, from the past twenty-four hours, to the last few minutes. From his intense attraction to Dean and how it has consumed him, to witnessing the young man wth his lover, and the pain that it has caused him.

But he won't. 

"Well, yes and no." He replies instead, clarifying that statement by adding, "I did stop by to see Dean. I wanted to congratulate him on his second place win. But, ah, well, he wasn't alone. He...has company. A friend." 

Castiel coughs into his fist, hoping to disguise his discomfort. He's acting like an idiot, but seeing Dean with someone else has affected him more profoundly than he ever thought possible. It's spun him around and left him reeling.

"Who's with Dean?" Both girls ask.

"His girlfriend," he sighs, forlorn and sad, "Ms. Braedon. And they were, well, they were...I, ah, didn't want to interrupt."

Jo and Charlie exchange another look. But while Charlie's expression is one of complete astonishment ( _what the everlovinfuck is the Chief talking about?_ ) Jo's is one of pure triumph ( _I knew Dean would fall for Lisa_ ).

"Dean is in there with his girlfriend?" Jo air quotes, frustratingly smug.

Castiel nods, stomach churning dangerously with each dip of his head.

"Lisa Braedon?" Stresses Charlie, making sure she heard him right.

Castiel nods again, sharp and tense, the urge to empty his stomach has become critical. He needs to leave, now.

"And they were like, smooching?" Jo asks, excited.

"What? No?" Cries Charlie. It just doesn't make sense, Dean was vehement about his feelings for dudes, especially Castiel. 

"Yes." Replies Castiel; he can't stand to hear anymore. "Now, if you'll excuse me-" He turns back to the elevator, presses the button with urgency, and silently thanks God when it opens right away. "I apologize for running off, ladies, but I really must leave." Adding just as the doors start to close, "I'll see you both shortly. One pm, sharp. Don't be late."

"Okay, that was seriously weird." Charlie remarks, turning back towards Dean's room. "Am I right, or...what's with the funny face?" 

"Dean and Lisa!" Gushes Jo, punching Charlie hard in her exuberance.

"Hey!" Charlie yelps, jumping out of harms way, then retaliates - arms windmilling in a hilarious attempt to land a blow of her own. But after a few seconds of continuously missing her target, she rubs at the sore spot, and scolds her laughing friend, "That hurt!"

"Aww, sorry Red. It's just...damn, I finally did it."

"You sure did."

"No, I mean getting Dean and Lisa together." Jo rolls her eyes at Charlie's scowl, "Come on, you have to admit that those two are perfect for each other. Right?"

Charlie scowls on, but the frown is aimed more towards Jo's naïveté, than her comment. "Harvelle, you couldn't be more wrong."

"The hell I am." Jo argues.

"Yes. You. Are." Charlie fires back, enunciating each word for maximum impact. "Both you and the Chief."

"Oh yeah?" Jo shakes her head, scoffs, "So what do you call two people that give off that 'I-wanna-see-you-naked', vibe? Huh?"

"Well, I-"

"That's right! Two people that want to be a couple, just like Dean and Lisa!"

"You're being crazy-"

"No! I'm right. Lisa is totally Dean's type. She's Gorgeous, has that dark hair he loves, a big smile, pretty brown eyes-"

"Well, you got two out of three, right." Charlie mutters, "Especially the gorgeous part. Mmm..." She hums, "Talk about dreamy." 

"Huh?"

"Look," Charlie says, serious now, "I know you've known Dean, like, forever. But there's no way the Dean _I know_ , would ever go for cute-girl 'B', when he's really, really, like seriously into, super-hunk 'A'."

"Wha-"

"And," Charlie barrels on, wagging her finger in Jo's face, "if you were to take a closer look, you'd see that Dean is more partial to blue eyes, rather than brown."

"The hell you implying?" Jo demands, grabbing hold of Charlie's finger.

"Um," Charlie ums, then drops her head and sighs. It's not her place to meddle. She only just met Dean. Jo too, for that matter. They're still mostly strangers. Barely acquaintances. Who's she to say anything in regards to Dean's love life.

N'ah, screw that. 

Dean's her bro now. And bros look out for one another.

"We need to tell Dean about what happened with the Chief." She demands, grit in her voice, steely determination in her eyes. "That's what I'm implying." She makes a run for Dean's door, calls over her shoulder, "I'm sure the last thing Dean wants is for the Chief to think that he's off the market."

Jo huffs in disbelief and jogs after her. "And why would Dean care what the Chief thinks?"

"Come on Jo, think about it." Both girls are standing just outside of Dean's room, Charlie impatiently waiting for Jo to understand, while Jo silently tries to figure out what the hell Charlie is getting at. "Dean's as much into the Chief, as the Chief is into him."-

Jo snorts, Charlie's got Dean all wrong. She opens her mouth to tell Charlie by how much, when they turn into Dean's room and find (just as Castiel had claimed) Dean and Lisa, in each others arms.

...

"Hey," Gabriel calls out, acknowledging whoever just walked in, "get over here and give me a hand with these- aargh!" 

Strong hands haul Gabriel off his feet, spin him around, and pin him to the wall.

"Br-bro," he croaks, sputtering for air while the hand that's pinning him (toes barely skimming the floor) squeezes his neck. "how'sit...argh..going?"

Castiel glares at his brother, ignores his grappling, and squeezes a bit harder. "Again, Gabriel?" He growls, beside himself with anger. He's an emotional wreck, too, feelings in complete disarray, not sure what to think or how to feel.

Ever since seeing Dean with his girlfriend, he's been drowning in a cacophony of feelings: absolute anger one second, overwhelming frustration, the next. But he can deal with those, he's used to them by now. It's the unexpected, and rarely experienced, although debilitating, heartbreak, that has him losing his footing. And what's worse, it seems his body is having a difficult time adjusting, and deciding, on which emotion to settle.

But in Gabriel's case, he'll go with wrath.

"Again?" He asks a second time, bunching Gabriel's t-shirt in his fist. "Again I foolishly followed your advice, and again, it was wrong."

Gabriel tries to reply, a series of grunts, unintelligible because of his brother's fist against his windpipe. "Groff groonitic!" He manages, mustering the strength to shove Castiel off. "The hell, Cassie, that hurt!"

Castiel staggers back, breath coming out in harsh pants, the urge to punch something, waning.

But why is he so upset? Yes, Dean is everything he's ever wanted - more than he's ever dared to hope for in a partner - and the one person in which he's most indebted. But he's not available. And Castiel is fine with that. 

He has to be.

"You better have a good reason!" Gabriel demands, gingerly fingering at his throat. "Hurts."

"Not as much as my feel-" Castiel begins, stopping before he gives too much away. He runs his hand roughly through is hair and with a weary sigh, says, "Never mind."

But Gabriel doesn't believe him. He's never seen his brother look so utterly...defeated: the pinched look, the hunched shoulders, the clenched fists, something is seriously out of whack.

"You saw Dean, I'm guessing."

Castiel sighs again, head hung low, a pathetic sight. "Yes."

"Aww, Cas-"

"No!" Castiel snaps, rounding on his brother. "Just stop it, Gabriel, stop! You're not allowed to comment on my love life, ever again! Understood?"

"But Cassie, come on! I was only trying to help-" Gabriel hollers, words cut off with the slam of the door. "Damn it!" He groans, then digs out his cell phone. Two rings later, "It's me. We have a problem."

...

Dean and Lisa are, for all intents and purposes, 'hugging'. But they're not just holding onto one another, they're clinging, and it seems desperate, yet tender at the same time. It's therefore natural that one assume, they're in love.

Yet how can that be? How did it happen? And, when? Dean and Lisa are strangers, two people that have only known each other for a few measily hours. Falling in-love takes time. The seeds of love need to be tended, nurtured fiercely, and protected, in order to blossom. Love doesn't just happen all of the sudden. This isn't a fairy tale. There's no knight in shining armor here. No damsel in distress, either.

Unless, it was 'love at first sight'. It's rare, if at all real. But still, possible. A love that hits its target without reservations, unstoppable and relentless.

Yes, that must be it. 'Love at first sight'. Truly the best kind of love. The kind that comes at you from the most unexpected places. The kind that can overcome all obstacles, and last an eternity.

But is that the case here? It certainly looks that way. But is it? After all, looks can be deceiving.

But that's how it appears to Jo and Charlie - Dean cradled lovingly in Lisa's arms, head tucked under her chin, her lips moving softly across his temple, whispering secrets, promises, endearments - a scene right out of a romance novel.

Oh yeah, Jo is so going to rub this in Charlie's face.

Both girls are standing just outside of Dean's door, Jo silently mouths a smug, 'Told you so', at her friend, then let's loose a loud 'wolf-whistle'.

And that does the trick.

Dean and Lisa startle and pull apart, he falls back against his pillows, Lisa, to the floor.

"Jesus, Jo, you ever hear of knocking?" Dean hurls a pillow at Jo's head, but then notices Charlie, and grins. "Oh, hey, Charlie." He waves them in, then leans over the bed, to give Lisa a hand.

"Sorry, Lisa," Jo says, biting her lip to keep from laughing, "didn't mean to interrupt." 

"Well, you did." Lisa replies, curt and chilly, not realizing how that comment can be misconstrued.

Dean does notice, however, and pauses. He can tell something's going on with Jo, he's not sure what it could be, yet, but Jo's mischievous smirk is always cause for alarm. But he chooses to ignore it; he's tired, emotionally drained, and too distracted with...well, other things to pay Jo's odd behavior, any real mind.

"Heard you caused a mini riot when they wouldn't let you see me last night." He remarks instead, drawing Jo's attention away from _whsteverthehell_ it is that's got her so damn amused. "Missed me that much, huh?"

Jo wasn't expecting that question, nor was she prepared for the change in subject. What she is prepared for, is a little more teasing. She wants to torment Dean for ever doubting her match-making skills, and then give him a chance to apologize. But then she takes one look at the large bandage on his forehead, the haunted, weary look in his eyes, and puts that plan on hold. At least until Dean feels better, or until tomorrow. Whichever comes first.

"It's my duty to check on you, Winchester." She shrugs, allowing Dean to take the lead, this once. 

"Yeah, nice try, I know you couldn't stay away me." He counters, grateful she's willing to drop whatever it is that has her acting so suspiciously.

"Hmpht, she wasn't the only one that was dying to see you."

"Aww, Charlie." Dean grins, he didn't mean to leave her out. "Come here." He beckons, urging the redhead closer with a flex of his finger.

Charlie rolls her eyes, "I wasn't talking about me."

Dean frowns, wonders who the hell is she talking about. Of course, Sam and Bobby. "Geesh, Charlie, I was with Sam and Bobby all night. But I'll make sure to tell them how -"

"Argh!" Charlie grunts, how can Dean be so dense? "Dean, I'm talking about Chief Milton! He's the one that wants to see you. Stopped by earlier, as a matter of fact." 

"No he didn't." Dean replies, voice steady despite the quickening of his pulse. There's absolutely no way Castiel stopped by, Dean would have noticed; he'd never forget a visit from Castiel.

"Yes he did." Charlie insists, but she says it softly, gently, all the snark gone from her tone, it's not like she's out to hurt Dean. "Okay, so he didn't actually step inside your room," she concedes, "but only because he didn't want to interrupt you and Lisa being all...lovey-dovey with each other."

"The hell?" Dean asks, head shaking in denial. What Charlie is suggesting Is ridiculous. Inane. Dumb. And so, so far from the truth. "That's nuts." He tells her, then starts counting off why.

"One, Lisa and I were not being," he grimaces, "lovey-dovey. And two, Chief Milton was never here. Because, three, I sure as hell would have noticed. And four, even if he did stop by (which he didn't) it wasn't because he wanted to see me. He probably got lost. Or, I don't know, came to visit his uncle. But it sure as shit wasn't to see me."

He looks between Jo and Charlie, sees they're both working up a counter argument, and laughs. "Guys, Cas was probably here doing charity work or some shit. He's a fucking hero. He can't help it. It's his thing. Probably came to read stories to some sick kids." 

It makes perfect sense, each and every reason Dean offers easily explains Castiel's alleged visit.

"Oh, and five," he blurts, "even if Cas did stop by to see me, there's no way he would think me and Lisa, are, you know, together. I mean, we were just sitting here and...talking."

"Yeah, pfft, of course you were. I, for one, believe you." Jo snarks. "Look, Red here thinks Chief Milton has the hots for you. And I say, hella no! Right?" she scoffs, unintentionally poking fun at Dean's already tattered heart, "As if." She laughs, reaching out for a fist-pump, but then dropping her hand when she sees how Dean's smile slips.

"Although," she reconsiders, murmuring this more to herself than to the group; perhaps she's misjudged this whole thing, after all, "even if that were true," she says, keeping a close eye on Dean’s reaction, "which, come on, of course it's not. It's not like you'd even be interested in him. Right, Dean?"

Dean blinks at her, unsure how to answer. "N'ah," he grins back, "course not."

Jo doesn't buy it for one second. Dean _is_ interested in the Chief; how could she have been so blind. "Yeah, course not." She parrots. "Why would you be?" She muses, silently mulling over this new found information. It changes everything. "Especially when its so obvious that you and Lisa are already...well, you know..." She gestures to both Dean and Lisa with her hand. "So I totally get why the Chief thought you're, together. It's pretty obvious."

"Jo, for the last time, Lis and I are just friends." 

"Oh Dean," Charlie tsks, picking up where Jo left off, "you really don't know how you two looked? I mean, if Jo and I didn't know any better, we wouldn't have come in either. We'd have turned tail and given you two your privacy. You were," she gestures wildly with a her hands, "all tangled up in each other's business." 

"No we weren't. I mean, we were just talking. That's all. We were just talking. Nobody would think differently..."

"Yeah, they would." Charlie says to him. "You were hugging and kissing and being all intimate with each other." She wrinkles her nose, "It was kinda gross."

Dean shakes his head, "We were just...talking."

"Talking, you say? Is that what you're calling it?" Jo props her elbow on Charlie's shoulder, argues, "Kissing and hugging, in bed." she points out, eyebrows raised, then snorts, "Yeah, there's no way _Cas_ would think you two were a couple."

Jo makes a good point, and it throws Dean for a loop. "We, we weren't doing anything...couply." He insists.

"Au contraire." Charlie sing-songs, teasing, but not in a mean way. "Chief Milton wholeheartedly believes that you and the lovely Ms. Braedon are a couple." She pauses, then claims, “And I can prove it! Wanna know how I know? Huh? Do you wanna? Huh?"

"You're talking crazy, Char-"

"Oh am I?" She asks, egging him on, and loving it. But she can't help it; she knows Dean will be super psyched when he realizes the full extent of Castiel's interest in him. "Well, riddle me this," she starts, pinning Dean with her eyes, needing him to fully understand what's at stake here, "what do you think spooked Chief Milton so bad, that he nearly ran me and Jo over?"

Dean just shakes his head; Charlie's got it wrong. "It wasn't because of me! There's no way."

Charlie's at a loss. "Dean, he was practically running from your room. Like, he was so blinded by the sight of you two snogging, that he sprouted wings and flew out of here!" She throws her arms up. "Come on Dean, I'm talking Chief Milton, here. The man is smooth and never loses his cool. He's got like, no affect at all. That is, unless he's looking at you."

"What? No. That's not-"

"Dean," Jo cuts in, no longer doubting Charlie's theory. "Face it, part of you, hell, all of you, wants Red to be right."

"..."

"Christ sakes, Dean. Admit it. You like him. And he likes you."

"..."

"Hmpht, you don't even deny it. Interesting." She says, then turns to Charlie. "After you." She says, shoving Lisa over and parking herself on the edge of Dean's bed.

"Okay," Charlie begins, body vibrating in her eagerness, "what finally convinced me, I mean, the two of us, that the Chief is into you, was his answer when we asked him if he was okay."

Pause

"Charlie," Jo snaps, "enough with the dramatic pauses. Let's wrap it this up already. We're running outta time and need to go soon. And besides," she points to a dumbstruck Dean, "can't you see your theatrics are killing him."

"Fine." Charlie mutters, "Chief Milton flew outta here because, and I quote, 'Dean is with his girlfriend. And I didn't want to interrupt', end quote."

"Wha...he's wrong." Dean says, abruptly shooting to his feet and rocking the bed so hard, Jo falls off. "There's no way-"

"He was really upset Dean. Like, 'about to cry', upset." Jo says, taking Charlie's offered hand. "He was seriously bummed-out that you weren't available."

Dean wants to argue, because, come on, they're wrong. Or are they?

"Look," Jo says, free hand motioning between him and Lisa, "trust me, if I thought for one second that your heart was really into dating Lisa," she smiles apologetically to her friend, but she's not really sorry; from what Jo can tell, Lisa is confused, but no where near, heartbroken, "then I never would have mentioned how fucking sad," she shakes her head, "no, he was more than sad, Dean, he was devastated."

Dean can't believe what he's hearing. It all sounds so incredibly, incredible. It couldn't have happened the way Jo and Charlie say it did. Could it? Because if it did, and Castiel really was upset to see him with someone else, then maybe Dean does have a chance with him.

Dean's heart flares with renewed hope. Castiel might actually want to go out with him. But what about his girlfriend? There's no denying he and Meg are a couple, she was practically humping Castiel's leg right in front of everybody.

But still...

Maybe he and Castiel could be friends. Good friends. The best. And in due course, after Castiel gets to know him a little better, sees that Dean isn't some bumbling kid with a pathetic crush on him - and he and Meg call it quits - maybe _then_ they could be friends. Maybe even more.

God, just the thought of the two of them in a romantic relationship has Dean floating on air, like he's free-falling.

"Cas-?" Dean croaks, he can't seem to catch his breath. He wills his rapidly beating heart to calm, strings a few more words together and manages, "You seriously think Cas likes me?"

"Dean, would we pull your leg?"

Dean looks between Jo and Charlie. No, he doesn't think they'd lie to him. Not about this.

"N'ah." Dean says, finally accepting what they're telling him, as the truth. "But so what if he likes me?" He shrugs, like it's no biggie, like his insides aren't currently somersaulting. "He likes all of us. He's our boss now. Coming to see if I'm okay, doesn't mean he like, likes me. Okay? He's just doing his job."

"Dean," Charlie sighs, reaching out to gently place her hand on his forehead, "don't take this the wrong way, but, how hard did you hit your head?"

"Charlie!" Lisa admonishes, reclaiming her spot on Dean's bed. "A little sensitivity, please!"

"Aww gee, Dean knows I'm kidding. Right, Dean?"

"Well it wasn't funny. And can't you two see he's not well-"

"It's okay, Lis." Dean says, jumping to Charlie's rescue. "I know Charlie didn't mean anything bad." 

"'Course not." Charlie sighs, wiping at her forehead with a 'whew' gesture. "Anyway," she says, plopping down next to him. "What are you gonna do about it?" She asks. "Other than telling him you and Lisa aren't involved, I mean."

Dean drops his gaze, exhales sharply through his nose, then shakes his head. "N'ah, man. I'm not telling him anything. What's it to him, anyway? Guy's got a girlfriend. Meg Masters."

"What?" Charlie asks, "Chief's got a girlfriend?"

"No, he doesn't." Lisa replies.

But Dean insists, "Yes, he does."

Then Jo argues, "You're just making that up, Dean."

But Dean persists, "No, I'm not."

"Then why did he act all torn up when he caught you with Lisa?" Charlie asks.

This is pissing Jo off. A lot. "Yeah! That's pretty crummy of him."

Lisa takes a gentler approach. "Dean, what were Meg and Chief doing that makes you think they're a couple?" She's suspected Dean's interest in their new boss since they first met. And now, watching Dean struggle to keep from falling apart in front of them because of Castiel, proves her suspicions. "Well?"

Dean would rather not go into detail: rehashing Meg's behavior, the way she climbed all over Castiel, and his very willing reaction, will most likely cause a relapse. He doesn't want think about that now. And he won't.

So of course, that's exactly what happens.

The memory of Castiel grabbing Meg, the way he pulled her into his arms, and the heat behind their embrace, is torture. The possessive way in which he ran his hands all over her body, molding her curves against the solid plains of his torso, his plush lips meeting hers in an insatiable kiss, the hunger between them, the eagerness, their mutual desire...

"Dean," Lisa laughs, "none if that happened!"

_Fuck, did I just say all of that out loud?_

"You didn't see me, but I was there." She explains, "And I know for a fact, that none of that happened."

"It did too." He argues, stubbornly sticking to his claim. And it's not like he's totally exaggerating. Sure, deep down Dean knows last night didn't actually unfold the we he apparently just blabbed, but it might as well have.

He's positive that's how Castiel and Meg behave in private. He's sure of it. All he did was verbalize it.

"Okay, so maybe they weren't as...explicit as all that. But the bottom line is, those two are definitely a couple. Unlike me and Lisa."

Lisa keeps laughing.

Dean huffs indignantly, but he doesn't blame her for her reaction, he's acting like a spurned lover: jealous, insecure, and petty. Yeah, he'd laugh at his sorry ass too, if it didn't hurt so damn much.

"Laugh all you want, but I know what I saw." He eyeballs each of his friends, stopping when his eyes land on Lisa. "Cas and Meg are together," he reiterates, seriously considering the deeper meaning of that fact, "unlike, me and you. But, hey, Lis," he says, reaching out to take her hand, "wanna change that? Want to go out? With me?"

"Dean, what-"

"Want to be my girlfriend?"

Lisa laughs, even harder.

"Oh, oh...Dean," she giggles, hiccuping her reply, it's all so ridiculous, "as romantic a declaration as that was, I think I'll pass."

"Why?" Dean and Jo demand.

"Seriously, both of you?" Lisa says, rolling her eyes at them. "Dean, you're about as interested in a relationship with me, as I am with you."

"But I thought-"

"Dean, you know I like you. Quite a lot, actually. But not in that way. And you don't either. So don't deny it.” She smiles kindly at him, says, "You've got zero interest in me. And that's...okay." Then to Jo, adds, “And you, enough with your meddling." Her tone is significantly harsher, but then she softens, and dials back her temper; Lisa knows Jo meant well. "Jo, if you just bothered to listen to Dean, and really looked at him, you'd see exactly who his heart desires. 'Cause it sure as heck isn't me."

Dean keeps silent, Jo looks abashed. But neither offer a word of protest. Dean won't insult Lisa by arguing. She's right, and they all know it.

"But that doesn't mean we can't be great friends." She smiles, warm and kind. "Right?"

Dean returns her smile with a grateful one of his own. "The greatest, Lis."

...

"No, that's not what...yes, of course he's got as much right as the rest of...fine, I'll get Gabriel...no Luke, I refuse to be the one...of course I think Dean deserves the best. But that's definitely...no! Yes, that's my final answer." Castiel slams the phone down and curses.

"Ah, who was that?" Gabriel asks, tone casual, only mildly curious.

"You know perfectly who that was, and what he wants." Castiel snaps, absently pinching the bridge of his nose. "How many times do I have to tell you to keep out if my business?"

He's upset, understandably so, but tired too. "Gabriel," he sighs, bracing himself on the edge of his desk, "please, stop." He sighs again, a long and weary exhale; he's so tired of his siblings' constant interference.

Gabriel inches closer, quiet as a mouse, he knows he's treading on dangerous ground here, that Castiel wouldn't be above cutting him out of his life the way he did Luke. "Cas-"

"Dean has a girlfriend." Castiel states with finality. He turns to face his brother, swallows down his bitterness, and adds, "She was taking care of him. Earlier, when I went to..." He lets the rest of the sentence trail off. Gabriel is smart, he can figure out the rest.

"Oh, man." Gabriel says, "Sorry." Then asks, "Who is she? Do I know her?"

It's a real puzzle, Gabriel could have sworn, on a stack of bibles, that Dean was head over heels for Castiel, that he didn't have eyes for anyone else. Dean's attraction to Castiel was instant, and pretty fucking obvious. So what the hell happened between yesterday and today?

"As a matter of fact," Castiel replies, "we all know who she is. It's this year's top recruit. Lisa Braedon." 

Gabriel gapes, jaw dropping open in surprise. "The hot one?"

Castiel's head falls back, and he groans, face palming in frustration. He refuses to answer. Gabriel's question is sexist, stupid, and worst of all, correct.

"Cassie..."

"Just let it go." Castiel says, dropping to his haunches. He opens a low drawer, and rummages through a stack of files, pulling out the necessary paper work he'll need for the recruits' examinations.

"How do you know they're seeing each other?" Gabriel asks, breaking the tense silence. "I mean, maybe she was just there to rub her victory in his face. You know? Girls can be pretty vindictive. And _that one_ definitely gave off that 'bossy-competitive' vibe. It's like with me and Kali-"

"They were kissing, Gabriel, and...touching. In Dean's bed." Castiel runs his hand through his hair, across his stubbled jaw, stares blankly at the pile of documents on his desk, exhales a heavy sigh, and says, "She was definitely rubbing something against Dean. But I assure you, it wasn't her victory."

"Wow, way to be graphic."

They fall back into an uncomfortable silence, Gabriel helps Castiel with some final touches, Castiel, lost in his own thoughts, stuffs several booklets into his bag, when Gabriel speaks again. "Ah, Cassie,"

"What now?"

"I was just wondering, if Dean and his smokin-hot-girlfriend are, how can I put this delicately-"

"What Gabriel? For the love of God, what?"

"Well," Gabriel says, then gestures out the window, "are they in an open relationship?"

"What?" Castiel asks again, not at all following his brother. But nevertheless, and against his better judgment, heads to the window. "What are you talking about?"

"Well, if those two kids are dating," he states, nodding out the window, "then I don't think Ms. Braedon got the memo."

"Gabriel, I don't have time-"

"Over there!" Gabriel says, pointing towards the pier and bouncing in place.

Castiel follows his finger, but he still doesn't understand what Gabriel is trying to show him. "I don't see-"

"There! Under the steps. They're kissing and groping and, holy-smokes," he cries, clearly impressed, "really going to town on each other."

"I still don't-" but then Castiel spots them, and he growls, an anger-fueled rumble rising from deep within his chest. "How could she?" He wonders out loud, "This will devastate Dean." Then asks Gabriel, "Who's with her?"

"That hot-shot recruit. The one that came in fourth. Victor something-or-other."

"Henrickson." Supplies Castiel. "Typical."

He turns and walks back to his desk, mutters condemnations along the way, then picks up his phone. He dials, and a ring later says, "I'll do it. I'm leaving now." Then hangs up, grabs one exam booklet, a handful of pencils, a soft cover text book, stuffs them all into his messenger bag, and heads for the door.

"Call Hannah, or Anna. Whoever's around to fill in for me. I'm going to the hospital."

...

Castiel fumes the entire ride to the hospital.

 _How could that girl betray Dean like that?_ He wonders. _Dean deserves better! Can't she see that?_

Castiel can't understand why anyone would ever hurt Dean. Dean is the best person he knows, worthy of complete fidelity. Why, if Dean and he were a couple, Castiel would make it his life's mission to make Dean happy, fill every single day and every single moment with joy, kindness, and love.

That's why he has to intervene, he has to warn Dean about _that_ girl, cushion the blow before he inevitably finds out. Dean has already been hurt, too much.

Castiel thinks about what he'll say the entire ride there: how to bring it up, how to make sure his delivery is delicate, he needs to be sensitive, too, he doesn't want to add to Dean's pain. But before he knows it, he's standing in front of Dean's door, hand raised and ready to knock.

"Come in." He hears Dean say. And Castiel walks in.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel should have known better. But he was just so tired. So lonely. His expectations, so low. And then he caught Dean and that girl holding onto each other in bed, and he crumbled. But he'd expected as much. Another disappointment. What he deserved. A punishment. Why should he have happiness, when he's been the cause of so much pain, so much loss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still burning slow in this one, but things are finally about to ignite

"Hello Dean."

"Cas!" Dean is too relieved to see Castiel again, to care how desperate he might sound. "What are you doing here?"

Castiel smiles, Dean seems glad to see him, and his heart soars. He enters Dean's room, walks up to his bed, and asks, "May I sit?"

Dean nods, and Castiel pulls up a chair. "How are you feeling?" He asks, letting his eyes roam freely over Dean's reclined body. He listens quietly while he notes every scratch, files away every visible bruise, but when his eyes land on the heavy bandage crossing Dean's forehead, his brow creases with concern. 

"How are you really feeling?" Castiel asks again, and leans in closer.

Happier than he could ever admit, is Dean's first thought. "Good." Is what he replies.

Castiel nods but he's unconvinced. He recalls the events that landed Dean in the hospital - the blow to his head, the battering of his body, the blood, the unfocused gaze, the confused ramblings - there's no way Dean could be 'good'.

Dean grasps Castiel by the shoulder, swears, "Cas, I am good. I mean, sure I have a little bit of a headache, and I'm freakin sore. Maybe a little tired too. But, I'm great. Promise."

Castiel doubts it, but there's no denying that the firm grip on his shoulder, or the gentle pressure exerted after every word Dean just uttered, is coming from someone in good health. "Well, you do look better." He concedes, then sits back, opens is satchel, and starts pulling out paperwork.

Dean eyes his action's warily, and asks again, "Cas, I'm really glad to see you, but, what are you doing here?"

"My apologies, Dean," Castiel pulls out a large textbook, closes his bag, and sets it on the floor, then laughs softly when he sees how worried Dean is. "I'm here to give you your written exam. There's nothing to be concerned-"

"The one the other guys are supposed to be taking right now?"

"The very one." Castiel confirms. "Now, here's your booklet. You'll write-"

"But Cas, if you're here, then what about all the other guys?" Dean stresses, "Don't get me wrong, I'm really grateful. But why make the special trip? Why me?"

Because you're different, Castiel wants to say. "It was all the Mayor's idea." He replies, instead. "I, well, initially I disagreed with him. I didn't think you'd be up to it. But now that I've seen how well you're doing...let's just say, I've never been more pleased to be wrong."

"Thanks. I think?"

"You're more than welcome." Castiel tells him. "But only if you want to take the test." He says, willing to go to great lengths for Dean's comfort. "And if you need more time to prepare, I can come back. Or you can take it later. Or tomorrow, or whenever you return to the-"

"Cas, I'm ready now." Dean cuts in, worried Castiel might change his mind if he puts it off. "Dude, I can recite the rules backwards and forwards, if you want."

Castiel laughs again. "Well, that won't be necessary. And I want you to take you're time. I'm not timing you."

"Thanks. But you don't have to break the rules for me. I don't want you to get in trouble."

"Don't worry about me." Castiel says, ceaselessly impressed with Dean's selflessness. "Just call it another favor from the Mayor. Oh, and here you go." He hands over a booklet and several forms, but he doesn't let go. "You're positive you're ready?"

Dean looks into Castiel's eyes, holds his gaze, and swears, "I've been ready for years."

...

"So, Castiel just left? Without a word to me? Who the _hell_ gave him the authority?"

"That's a funny way to put it." Gabriel notes. "Because it just so happens, that it was the very devil himself, that gave Cassie the order."

Alistair slams his fist against the desk, furious with Gabriel, with Castiel, but especially with Luke Milton. "And why would the Mayor make such a demand?"

Gabriel shrugs. "Beats me."

"That can be arranged." Alistair snarls, lips curling back to expose yellowed teeth. "Call Castiel, now." He orders. "Tell him to get back here at once. I'll go instead. I'll take care of Dean Winchester and straighten out this mess, just like I always do."

"Can't." Gabriel replies, walking behind Castiel’s desk and taking a seat.

"What? Why not?" 

Gabriel opens the top drawer, peeks inside, and pulls out a cell phone.

"Well?"

Gabriel doesn't answer, he just tosses the cell phone up in the air, catches it, then tosses it again. He does this a few more times, mostly because it pisses-off Alistair - he loves to see how big he can make the vein on his temple swell.

"Milton!"

Gabriel looks up at Alistair, eyes widening as if surprised to see he's still there. "Cassie forgot to take his phone." He explains, infuriatingly relaxed. 

"Then go and bring him back." Alistair grits out, not at all bothering to disguise his anger.

Gabriel cups his mouth, but doesn't hide his yawn; teasing Alistair is fun, but he's getting bored, and it's getting late. "Can't." He says again, and swears he sees smoke billowing from Alistair's ears. It takes every bit of self-control to keep from laughing. 

Alistair replies with a slew of vulgarities, the situation is getting more frustrating by the minute. He scowls menacingly at Gabriel and becomes even more agitated when his well aimed glower, lands atop his coworker’s head, instead.

"You're testing my patience." He warns, silently vowing that once everything is settled, and Dean is finally in his bed, the next mission will be to rid himself of every last Milton. "Look at me when I address you!"

But Gabriel doesn't dare look up, he won't be able to control himself if he does. So he keeps rummaging through a random drawer, not really searching for anything, just needing to do something that will hide his growing grin. But he really does need to wrap this up, it's almost time for the exam to start.

He sits up, straightens the large stack of papers piled on the desk top, and says, "Ah, sorry to cut our chat short, boss, but I gotta go and give the kiddies their examinations." He slams the desk drawer shut, stands up, and chirps, "Toodles."

...

Dean breezes through the exam and finishes in record time, but he doesn't let Castiel know that. Castiel is a busy man, with great responsibilities, and as soon as Dean hands in his finished work, he'll leave.

So Dean dawdles, lingers over questions he's already answered, re-reads rules and regulations he already knows by heart, all because he wants to squeeze a few more precious minutes in the Chief’s company.

And it feels good, too, being in Castiel's company, easy, comfortable. But Dean can't stall forever.

"M'done Cas. Here you go."

"So soon?" Castiel asks, surprised, but even more so when he checks the time on his watch. "You still have plenty of time Dean." He notes, trying to hand Dean back his booklet. "You should go over your answers. Make sure you're comfortable with them. You're not on a timer. Remember?"

Dean huffs a laugh, it figures Castiel would think he carelessly rushed through the test and got the answers wrong. But, whatever. The results will speak for themselves. "N'ah, I'm done."

"If you insist." Castiel replies, already scanning the answers.

Dean fidgets in his bed, readjusts his sheet, reaches for a sip of water, chats nonsense while Castiel peruses his paper; he's working himself up to something big, and he needs every bit of courage he can scrounge-up, in order to spit it out. 

Castiel doesn't notice the state Dean's worked himself into, he's too busy humming, nodding, and grunting one syllable replies while trying to hold his end of their conversation.

"I said," Dean says, waving his hand in front of Castiel's face, "do you think I should call Mayor Milton and thank him? Or, does he want to keep this between us? I get it, if he doesn't want to make a big deal about it. But I don't want to come off like some ungrateful asshole, either. It was really nice of him to...why are you laughing?"

"They're all correct."

"What? Which one? Call and thank him? Or, not make a big deal?"

"No Dean," Castiel chuckles, delighted, "I mean your results. Every single answer, is correct. All of them. And I only scanned the essay, but it was brilliant. Very insightful."

It takes Dean a moment to catch up, but when Castiel's compliment finally sinks in, he's humbled and blushes, grateful to be acknowledged. "Ah, thanks." He replies, beet red, then points to the large text book on Castiel's lap. "I've been studying that book, since...forever. Since I could read, practically."

"You never cease to amaze me." Castiel sighs softly, starry-eyed and worshipful, but then quickly breaks the tension by adding, "We're all extremely proud to have you on our team. And as soon as you're able, come down to headquarters and select your instructor."

"I get to pick?" Dean asks, scooting closer to Castiel, crossing his knees to sit 'Indian' style beside him. "But I didn't win." Dean continues, growing more excited. "I...wait, is this another one of the Mayor's favors?"

Castiel's smile is all the answer Dean needs. 

"Then he's definitely getting a thank you card from me. Maybe even a fruit basket!"

"I'm sure the card will suffice." Castiel laughs, thoroughly enjoying himself and Dean's exuberance, fingers eager to fan out to touch Dean's leg. "I'll let the team know you're results, and that you'll be joining us when you're better."

"In that case, I'll be there first thing tomorrow."

"Dean, only if your up to it, and your doctor gives his consent."

"Cas," Dean grins, "I'm more than up to it. Can't wait to get out of here. Feel all antsy being stuck in here for so long-"

Castiel dead-pans, "Dean, it's been less than twelve hours."

"Yeah, well, feels like I've been cooped up in this place for days, man. And before you say anything, the doc already said I'm good to go. I'm just waiting for my release papers. Bobby and Sam are coming by later to get me."

"In that case," Castiel smiles, "I don't see any reason why you can't start as early as tomorrow."

"Hells-yeah!" Dean replies, clapping his hands in excitement. "I'm there!"

They chat for a few more minutes, discuss schedules, the gear Dean will have to acquire, what the first few days will entail for him as well as the other new recruits, when Castiel checks his watch again.

"Where has the time gone?" He sighs, tone full of regret. "I guess I better get going." He looks back at Dean, eyes large and imploring, says, "You should probably get ready. I've already taken up so much of your time-"

"No," Dean interrupts, hand darting out to keep Castiel from leaving, "please stay." He could kick himself for acting so needy (wonders where the hell his pride vanished to) but he's past caring. "Just for a few more minutes. Keep me company, man. I'm getting punchy just staring at these four walls."

Dean's reaction startles Castiel, but in the most pleasurable way. "I'd be happy to stay and wait with you, Dean." He answers, gladly taking his seat again. He had no desire to leave Dean's side and is more than happy to bask (for as long as he can) in the young man's company.

"Thanks, Cas." Dean grins, gently squeezing Castiel's knee. "I had a few people stop by earlier," he says, making small talk while working up the nerve to finally ask Castiel on a date; if what Jo and Charlie said is true, then there's no reason not to. "Jo, and Charlie. And Lisa Braedon..." He adds lastly, watching Castiel closely for any reaction. "But, they couldn't stay. They had to go take the test with you. Funny how that turned out. Since you're here with me. S'nice."

Castiel's smile falters at first, he'd forgotten the real reason for this visit - to warn Dean about his promiscuous girlfriend.

"Yes, very funny, Dean." He replies, tone several degrees cooler. "I suppose they could have stayed, kept you company and taken the test with you."

"N'ah," Dean says, patting the Chief’s knee, "I'm glad they left. Means I get all the special treatment for myself."

And now Dean's flirting.

Castiel's cheeks turn pink and he smiles. He's here for Dean, he reminds himself. It's not Dean's fault that he's dating a partner who's woefully lacking in character and undeserving of his trust. "Well, to be perfectly honest, I'm glad too." Castiel confesses, delighted when Dean's face flares red. "And I, ah, actually came by earlier." He adds, looking up to see if Dean cares or not.

"I didn't see you."

"Well, it's probably because you were..." Castiel pauses before he says too much. The situation is awkward enough, without him adding his own 'hang-ups' to the equation. "I didn't want to interrupt."

"You wouldn't have."

Castiel huffs a soft chuckle, but it's utterly devoid of any humor. "I'm sure your girlfriend would disagree." He mutters to himself. 

Dean doesn't hear what Castiel just said, he saw his lips move, but didn't catch the words. "Sorry, I didn't hear-"

"Dean," Castiel speaks up, clear and decisive this time; he's going to warn Dean about his wayward girlfriend, even though it's not his place. "There's something I think you should know about your-"

But Dean's not listening. He's reached his breaking point, too, and it's now or never. He's going to ask Castiel out.

"Cas," he interrupts, too wrapped up in his own agenda to register the Chief’s distress, "there's something I've been meaning to ask." He starts, and throws caution to the wind. “Look, I've read the rule book backwards and forwards. And nowhere in there does it say anything about coworkers dating. Or, not dating."

Castiel can't believe what he's hearing, Dean's going to tell him about his relationship with Lisa. He should have left when he had the chance.

"You're right, there are no specific rules. But discretion is always-"

"Oh, I can be discreet." Dean whispers, resting his hand atop of Castiel's.

Castiel could scream. Never in a million years would he have pegged Dean for a 'cheat'. How could this wonderful, generous, soul, think Castiel would ever be interested in having an affair with him? Or is Dean asking Castiel to join him and his girlfriend? A ménage-a-trios, like the one Balthazar had tried to coax him into joining. No, how could Dean believe Castiel would willingly share his affections. It's incomprehensible, and will never happen.

"Dean...I, well, I'm flattered. But...hmpht," he snorts, "I guess I should have seen this coming."

"Seen what coming?" Dean says, dreading the direction their conversation has taken.

Castiel exhales a long heavy breath, shakes his head, and exhales again. "Dean, as incredible as it may seem, you're not exactly the first to person to ask me for...well, you know, _that."_

Dean's heart thuds heavily in his chest, his stomach sours, and prays Castiel isn't about to say what he thinks he's about to say.

"It would be highly inappropriate. And frankly, it would make me terribly uncomfortable."

The bed drops out from under Dean, and he plummets. Castiel has turned him down, just like Dean knew he would.

Of course he's not the first to ask Castiel out. Dean knows that. But he didn't think Castiel would be against the idea of dating in general. And that's because he's not. Castiel is seeing Meg, after all. Which means...he's just against the idea of dating Dean.

"Dean, despite all of that, I'd still like for us to remain friends."

But Castiel's request is met with stony silence.

"Dean?"

Dean comes back to himself, replies, "Hey, yeah. 'Course. Friends. It's great, man. No hard feelings."

Castiel can see Dean is upset, but there's nothing he can do about it. There's just no way he could ever be in a relationship that's not completely monogamous. Especially with Dean. But Castiel meant it when he said he still wants to be friends.

"Dean," Castiel doesn't want to leave things like this, no matter what, he cares deeply for Dean. So he tries again, takes Dean's bunched up fists in his hands, and gently pries them open, "please-"

"Yo, Dean!" It's Sam, and his yell startles both men. "You ready to get out of here?"

"The hell do you think?" Dean yells back, snatching his hand back from Castiel's loose grip. "Been ready for hours."

"Oh hey, Chief Milton!" Sam says, smiling when he catches sight of his new favorite person. He walks in, then stops. "Is everything okay?" He asks, looking between the two men, and frowns; the tension is so thick, he can practically taste it. "'Cause I can come back-" 

"Everything's just peachy." Replies Dean, throwing the covers off so he can get up. "Where's Bobby?"

"Filling out some forms, and stuff. You sure there's nothing-"

"Nope," Dean says, "not a thing. The Chief and I are through."

But Sam gets the feeling his brother isn't referring to the pile of paper work next to Castiel's seat.

"As a matter of fact, he was just leaving." Dean adds, grabbing his clothes from the closet and walking towards the bathroom. "Ain't that right, Chief?"

Castiel knows when he's being dismissed, and it hurts, like a stab to the chest. He wishes he'd never come. 

"I'll see you tomorrow." Castiel says, trying to keep his voice upbeat, steady, but it's a struggle. "We can make your schedule together, then start on your training."

"Ah, thanks, but I think I'll pass on that, Chief. I'm gonna see if Alistair still wants me on his team."

"I-I, see."

"Hey, no hard feelings, right?"

Castiel shakes his head, he's beyond words.

"Good." Says Dean, tone civil, but his eyes are hard and judgmental. "Guess I'll see you around, Chief."

...

It's a long drive to his house, but as soon as Castiel steps through the door, he's going straight to his freezer and pulling out his bottle of vodka. He's never wanted a drink so badly in his life, or the need to get drunk.

"Damn it!" He curses and pulls onto his driveway. He idles for a minute before turning off the ignition, then slams the door when he steps out of his car. "What are you doing here?" 

"Brought you your phone." Gabriel replies, then hands it over.

Castiel takes it, turns it over in his hand and gives it back. "Gabriel, that's your phone. My phone is in my bag."

"Oh, yeah, I thought it looked familiar. Oh well-"

Castiel ignores him and heads straight to his front door. "What do you want?" He asks, not turning around while he inserts the key. 

"Can't a guy just stop by to see his baby brother?"

Castiel gets the door open, but doesn't step in. He turns around instead, "Not you." He grits out, and exhales, he's exhausted. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he says "Gabriel, I've had a very upsetting day, and am in no mood for your humor. So I'm going in, and your going home." Then Castiel steps inside and closes the door.

Or tries to. 

"Gabriel, go home!" Castiel begs, unable to shut the door with Gabriel's foot in the way. 

"Cassie...hurts..."

Castiel grunts in frustration, but releases the door. 

"Cassie?" Gabriel calls out, limping dramatically, once inside. "Hey, where'd you go?" He hollers, stopping short when he turns into the kitchen. "Wow," he whistles, nodding at the full bottle from which Castiel is currently guzzling, "thirsty much?" 

Castiel neither replies, nor does he put the bottle down. He clutches it close to his chest, instead, and stares at nothing, lost in his own thoughts. 

Gabriel snorts, walks over to the cupboard and pulls out two glasses. "Here, let me." He says, taking the bottle from Castiel's grasp and pouring them both, a generous shot.

Six more hits later, he asks, "These all celebratory drinks?"

Castiel grunts in reply, then downs his eighth, ninth, and tenth shot.

"Ooooh-kay," Gabriel says, eyebrows shooting up in concern, both impressed and alarmed by Castiel's behavior. "I think it's time I put that away." He says, then reaches out to take Castiel's glass from his hand, and the bottle from the counter.

"No!" Castiel cries, lunging after the bottle.

"Yeah, that would be a negative." Gabriel replies, jumping out of reach and jogging around the kitchen-island. "Last time you got drunk," he huffs, "you ended up dating Meg!" 

"S'not the same!" Castiel hisses, stretching across the counter to grab at the bottle.

"Hmpht, it's not the same?" Gabriel snorts, deposits the nearly empty bottle back inside the freezer, while Castiel struggles on top of the counter. ”Okay, tell me, how's it not the same?"

Castiel stills, but doesn't reply. He doesn't want to relive any of his conversation with Dean, or recall the way in which the younger man propositioned him, eyes wide and hopeful, so eager for Castiel to accept. 

Castiel was tempted, too. Of course he wanted to accept, he would have gladly accepted anything Dean offered him.

Except for that.

Castiel sighs, a heavy melancholy rush of air, then sighs again. If only Dean were single and asked him for a real date. Just the two of them.

If only Dean were interested in just him, and no one else. 

If only Castiel were enough. 

No, Castiel doesn't want to talk. He wants to drink. He wants to forget.

"Cassie?"

"I've-" Castiel hiccups, "Nothing. I, not one," hiccup, "nothsing," hiccup, giggle, "to says..." Hiccup.

"Oh, that’s just beautiful." Gabriel says, throwing his arms up in the air, "now he's got the hiccups and the giggles. "Come with me.” He says, reaching out to help Castiel climb off the counter top, then steering him towards the living room. "Sit!"

"N'gh, g'off," Castiel slurs, "m'drink." Hiccup.

Gabriel huffs as if fed up, but grins all the while, a tipsy Castiel is hilarious. "Okay, I'll get you a drink, if you sit for me." Then with a gentle shove, he deposits Castiel on top of the couch.

He goes back to the kitchen, and a minute later hands Castiel a bottle of water. "Here's your drink."

Castiel frowns, but takes it.

"Drink, then talk." Gabriel orders, plopping next to his brother. 

Castiel takes a sip and grimaces. "Don't...not this."

"Too bad." Gabriel says, then tips the bottle back into his brother's mouth. "Now talk."

...

"Dean, come on, man, talk. What the hell happened?" 

It's the third time during the drive home that Sam has asked Dean about his sour mood. And while Dean's brooding is not uncommon, the reason behind this particular episode (if Sam's suspicion proves correct) is.

"It's Cas. Right?"

"..."

"Look I know something happened." Sam says, sticking his head out between the two front seats. "I'm not blind. So you might as well tell me.”

"How about you mind your own business, Sam?"

"No, Dean! Not this time. Holding shit in like this...it isn't healthy." 

It's an old argument between them. But this time, Sam's not backing down. He knows something happened between his brother and Chief Milton. Something bad. And even though he knows it's none of his business, he's going to push until Dean finally talks. 

"Come on." Sam groans. "What the fuck is-"

"Boy, watch the cussing!"

"Sorry, Bobby."

"Heh, yeah, watch your language, Sammy." 

"And you," Bobby barks, taking his eyes off the road to glare at Dean, "answer your brother's damn question!" Bobby is just as rattled by Dean's second near-death experience, as Sam is, and wants answers. He’s done letting Dean wallow in silence. "Speak up, boy." 

"Christsakes you two! There's nothing to tell! And if there was, it's none of your business."

"Well, as a matter of fact," Bobby counters, taking his eyes off the road for a second time to look Dean in the eye, "if whatever just happened, or didn't happen, between you and your boss affects either of us, then guess what, kiddo? It is our business! So start talking!"

...

"Start talking!" 

"..."

"I'm all ears, Cassie."

"...!!!!..."

"Cassie! Enough with the death-glare! You can't scare me, okay! Now tell me, what the hell's got you so damn upset?"

"Need more…vodka, first..." Hiccup.

"No way! You’re liable to 'drunk-dial' Meg if you keep that up."

"!!!!!!"

Castiel!"

"..."

"Fine, have it your way. If you won't talk to me, then maybe I should get Luke to come over."

"Fine! I'll talk." Resigned sigh. "I'll tell you everything."

...

"It's Cas, I mean, Chief Milton, he stopped by-"

"We know that part-"

"I wasn't done, Sam. Now shut up and let me finish!"

"Humpht," amused snort, "looks like Chief Milton really has gotten under your skin, Dean." More snickering. "Just look at the way you're acting."

"No, he hasn’t. I mean, well, yeah, I guess. Maybe a little. But that's not the point." Long, tired, exhale. "Look, he stopped by to see me this morning. But I didn't even know he was there."

“Then how’d you find out.”

“The girls told me."

"What girls?"

"Oh, you know, some of the girls from the tryouts. Jo, and Charlie, and Lisa." 

"Jo, I know. Don't think I know those other two.”

"Probably not, Bobby. Although Lisa's Jo's friend from school. You might have seen her around, I guess. And you probably saw them yesterday at the trials. Charlie's this really cute red-head and-"

"Hey, is Lisa that really pretty brunette? She's the one Jo wanted you to meet? Right?

"Yeah, Sam."

"Hmpht, boy," bemused head shake, "sounds to me like anybody walking by would think you were running a harem."

"Geesh, Bobby," horrified grimace, "its not like that. They're all just friends." 

"Still, anybody coming by to see you might get the the opposite impression. Seeing you surrounded by all those lovely ladies," low impressed whistle, "might think that you're quite the 'ladies'" man."

"But it wasn't like that."

"Dean, did that boss of yours see you with those girls?"

"No. Just one. Lisa."

"Well then, no wonder he didn't stop by and say hello to you that first time. Probably thought you were with your girlfriend." Gruff chuckle.

"Yeah," resigned exhale, "unfortunately, that's exactly what happened." 

"What? I was just teasing-"

"Well, according to the girls, Chief Milton thought Lisa was my girlfriend."

"The hell, Dean? You told him that's not true. Right? Wait, she's not, is she?" 

"Calm down, Sam! Christ, you're getting me all worked up again! And for your information, yes, I totally set him straight when he came back. I told Chief-"

"Dean, why do you keep referring to Cas as 'Chief'?"

"Maybe because he is the Chief, Sam."

"Yeah, he is. But yesterday he was Cassss. Remember?"

"Well now he's Chief, okay."

"Whatever." Eye roll. "So you finally told him you like him? Not some girl you just met. Right?"

"..."

"You did, right?"

"Yes, I did, okay! I told him, sorta. I kinda mentioned it, but I'm not sure if he heard me, or not. But he probably did. Either way, it's not like it mattered. Alright? You satisfied now?"

"I'd be more satisfied if you weren't acting like such a jerk!"

"Maybe it's because you're being such a little bitch!"

"Enough!"

Tense silence.

"So what exactly did you say to him?"

"..."

"Dean, come on!"

...

"Cassie, come on!" 

"I went to see Dean-"

"I know that part. What the hell happened afterwards?"

"Gabriel, if you could shut up for just one minute, then I can tell you everything!"

"Geesh, no need to bite my head off." Low whistle. "Man, that kid really has gotten under your skin." 

"Yes...he has."

"Yeah, but in a good way. Right?"

";_;"

"Aww, Cassie, what's with the sad eyes?"

"He...Dean asked me out..."

...

Audible gasp. 

"Dean! That's great! What did he say?"

"..."

"Dean, stop doing that, and talk!"

".!!!."

"And stop it with the damn death glare, Dean. Out with it!"

"Fine! You wanna know?" Dean blurts. "I'm not gonna be seeing him! Okay!"

"Why the fuc-"

"Mouth!"

"...heck not?"

"Well, if you must know-"

"Yes, we must!"

"Damn it! Fine, you wanna know why I'm not going out with the Chief." Harsh breaths, "because he turned me down!"

...

"Why the hell did you turn the kid down?"

Heavy silence.

"Cassie, I know you like him. And he's obviously interested in you. So why the hell?"

"..."

"Why, damn it?"

...

"Because,” Dean snaps, “he's just not interested in me!"

"What? 'Course he is."

"I hafta agree with Sam, Dean. From what I saw, that Chief of yours certainly gave me the impression that he liked you."

"Well, he doesn't, Bobby. You got it wrong. You all did. And besides... 

...

"Dean already has a girlfriend."

...

"Meg Masters. You know, the scary lady lifeguard."

"No!”

"Yes!"

"Dean, you sure about that?"

"Of course I am, Sam. Chief Milton and that woman, are dating, and they're perfect for each other."

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

...

"It means, Gabriel, that Dean has someone in his life that shares in his interests and his...tastes. They're perfect for one another.

...

"They're both in the same profession. Peers, real equals, you know...real partners."

...

"And they have...an understanding. One I want no part of."

...

"That can't be right." Sam mutters. 

"What?"

"Just that, I don't know, you must have misunderstood." He says in a louder voice, head popping between Dean and Bobby's seats, again, "When I asked his brother about her, Gabe told me Castiel and Meg weren't-"

"The hell you talking to Gabriel for, Sam?” Dean twists in his seat, jabs Sam with his finger, warns, “Listen, you are not allowed-"

"Dean!" Yells Bobby, rubbing at the temples. "Stop with the hollering! You're giving me a headache!" 

"But, Bobby-"

"But nothing! Your brother was just making conversation with the man. Answered a few questions for him. Asked a few of his own. Just making conversation!"

...

"What kind of conversation?" Castiel asks, dread mounting.

"Don't look so terrified." Gabriel huffs, smacking Castiel on the shoulder. "We were just shooting the breeze. Small talk, okay. No big deal. He told me about poor ole lonely Dean-o, and I, ah, well, I mighta mentioned how you're in the same boat."

Castiel falls back against the cushions and groans. He's fully sober now.

"Gabriel, for the umpteenth time, my love-life is none of your business. My feelings for Dean are none of your business. And Dean's brother-"

"Sammy," supplies Gabriel, grin growing wider, "sweet kid. Smart too. Did you know he's going to Stanford in the fall? Impressive, right? It's the reason they moved back to California. They're originally from here. Small world. Not sure why they left in the-"

"That's also none of your business."

"P-shaw." Gabriel scoffs. "I'm sure he woulda told me. Eventually. Probably was going to, until Dean got knocked in the head."

Castiel frowns at his brother, he's furious with him, and through gritted teeth, asks, "Is that where you were when Dean got hurt? With the spectators?"

"Whoa, what's with the hostile tone?"

"Hostile!" Castiel shouts. "Really, Gabriel? You were supposed to be keeping an eye on the trainees." He grabs a fistful of his brother's shirt, and growls, "But instead of doing your job, instead of keeping Dean safe, you were 'chatting' with Sam?"

"Whoa, that's rich!" Gabriel shouts back. "For the umpteenth time, Chief, I was off duty, yesterday, remember?" 

Castiel slumps back against the couch, dead tired by now. "Please, go home." He begs.

...

"Well, that’s too bad, Dean. Because I’m going to speak to whomever I want." Sam replies, tone tight and defiant. "'Cause guess what, the world doesn't revolve around you." 

Dean glares daggers at his brother, and in a low and menacing growl, warns, "That's right, Sammy. And a guy can also wake up completely bald one morning, because he wouldn't keep his nose out of my business."

Sam opens his mouth to retaliate, sees the seriousness behind Dean's threat, exhales sharply, then slumps back against his seat. "Jerk."

The rest of the ride home is silent and tense. But it gives Dean time to reflect on the events from the past several hours: from meeting Castiel, to the his painful rejection. 

He catches Sam's eyes in the side view mirror, and sighs; it's not his brother's fault that Castiel wants nothing to do with him. The kid was just trying to help.

"Hey, Bobby," Dean says, breaking the minutes long silence, "What do you say we stop for some ice-cream?" Then throwing his brother a wink, adds, "My treat."

...

"I just want to sleep."

"Well, tough titty," replies Gabriel, making himself comfortable on Castiel's overstuffed couch. "'cause I'm not leaving till you tell me everything that kid said to you." Then quickly amends. "And, how he said it!"

Castiel grunts then drapes an arm over his eyes, but otherwise doesn't move.

Gabriel nods, pleased; Castiel didn't physically get up and kick him out, it's a win, as far as he's concerned. 

"Okay, then," he starts, giddy with excitement, "tell me, little brother, did Dean actually use the words, 'threesome'?"

"That's one word."

"Semantics!" Counters Gabriel. "And stop interrupting." He huffs as if offended then straightens out his shirtfront, smoothing the wrinkles from the cotton with the palm of his hand. "Now then," he resumes, "did Dean say that actual word? Or, did you just assume that's what he meant?"

Castiel drops his arm to glower at his brother; Gabriel doubts him and it pisses him off. But the worst part is that Castiel also thinks it's absurd. Dean would have been the last person he would have thought capable of being unfaithful, let alone a 'swinger': a man whose ravenous libido could only be sated by the indiscriminate swapping of sexual partners. 

That description is terribly contrary to Castiel's first impression of Dean; the epitome of a romantic. But Castiel also knows what he heard. He knows exactly what Dean was asking, knows what he meant, what he was implying. There's no way he misunderstood.

"No, Gabriel, while Dean didn't use that exact phrase, he did imply it."

"Oh, really? How so?"

"Non of your-"

"Not leaving till you tell me."

"Oh, for the love of-"

"I can do this all night." Gabriel sing-songs. "Kali's got a thirty-six hour shift. I'm all yours for the next three days." 

"That's a day and a half-"

"Semantics!"

"Fine!" Castiel snaps, sitting up to face his brother. "First of all, I know what I heard. And I know what Dean meant. And to prove it -- even though it's hardly any of your business - I'll tell you exactly what he said."

Gabriel hums in reply, folds his arms across his chest, and leans back. "I'm listening."

Castiel takes a few seconds to start, silently cataloging their exact exchange before starting. "Dean has studied our manuals, thoroughly." He explains, the words coming out heavy and sorrowful. "All of them. And according to what he found, or in this case, didn't find, there are no rules anywhere in all of our literature, stating that coworkers cannot date. And don't, Gabriel," He pauses, the warning in his tone stopping Gabriel from interrupting, "he wasn't referring to himself and me." 

"The hell he wasn't!"

"Gabriel," Castiel exhales, he's drained and he’s finding it harder and harder to focus. And his heart hurts. He wraps his arms around himself - the pain in his chest flaring up anew - but his brother still won't leave. "Dean was obviously referring to himself and Lisa. He didn't...doesn't want me. I would just be an 'extra something' they'd use to spice up their relationship."

"Cassie," Gabriel huffs, chuckling at how wonderfully ridiculous he finds the whole thing, "you hearing yourself?"

Castiel glares in return, murder in his eyes, but it just makes Gabriel laugh harder. 

"Look, even if that is what Dean meant, would that be such a bad thing?" 

"Bad?" Castiel can't believe how little his brother knows him. "Gabriel, you know I have no interest-"

"Oh, pah-leeze!" Gabriel snorts, grimacing, he can't believe what a prude his brother is. "Look, I know you've been asked to join other couples before - lucky bastard - and while that may not be your thing, having sexy-times with Dean, is." 

Castiel shakes his head, he rejects all of it. He could never share Dean. He'd rather be alone. "No, I...never." Castiel shakes his head again. "He and I, and ...her? No, never in a million years."

"Bro, reconsider." 

"No, my mind's made up!"

"Aw, come on!" Gabriel groans, hands clasped, pleading. "Take one for the team, Castiel!"

"Never!"

"Look, if it were me, I'd do it."

"How very generous of you." Castiel sneers. "And shortly thereafter, we'd all be attending your funeral. Thanks to Kali."

"Phfft, Kali? She wouldn't mind-"

"Gabriel, if your lovely spouse suspected you were interested in someone else, she'd destroy you."

"Well, yeah. D'uh, but what a way to go! Picture it, me in the middle of that _sexyashell_ sandwich. Mm-mm," he hums, "no sir, I would not mind that one bit."

Castiel slumps back, runs his hand through his hair, eyes closed, muttering pleas, then lets his arm rest over his eyes again. "Then go. There, problem solved. Go offer yourself. I'm sure you'd find them agreeable-"

"Oh Cassie," Gabriel tuts, jabbing his finger against Castiel's chest, "I was just teasing. Okay?"

"..."

"It was joke. Geesh."

"Wasn't funny."

"And neither is this." Gabriel counters, then laughs. "Actually, I take that back. It's hilarious."

"Hilarious? My...the way I'm feeling is no laughing-"

"Not laughing at your pain, Cassie. Just at the fact that you could be boinking Dean's brains out by know, if you had just stopped to really listen to what he was saying to you! What he was obviously asking you."

"Gabriel, he wasn't-"

"Look, no offense, but you're a prideful idiot. And," he tuts, "you completely misunderstood what he said."

"No! I know what I heard. Dean-"

"- has the hots for you."

"Me? Maybe, but he's already dating-"

"He's not."

"Yes. He is. He...well. Okay, at one point he did say he wasn't dating anyone. And he also mentioned they weren't a couple. But I saw them! They were...embracing." Castiel shakes his head, trying to erase the foul image from his mind. "He was definitely referring to Lisa."

Gabriel hums and a-hems, taps his chin with the tip of his finger, then a-hems some more, speaking up when Castiel runs out of steam. "What was that about Dean not dating anyone?" He asks, shrewd and cocky, he finally has Castiel where he wants him. "The part where he said, in real words, that they weren't a couple?"

"No, they...he must have...it's beside the point!"

"It's exactly the point, Castiel!" Gabriel sits up on his knees, looms over his brother, and tells him, "That kid likes you. Only you. Capiche."

"..."

"Come on."

"Gabriel, he's not-"

"-like the others. Isn't that what you told me?"

That stops Castiel in his tracks. Gabriel is right. Dean isn't like any body else. He's special. He'd never proposition Castiel. Not like that. Would he? Castiel shakes his head. No, Dean wouldn't. 

Castiel should have known better. But he was just so tired. So lonely. His expectations, so low. And then he caught Dean and that girl holding onto each other in bed, and he crumbled. But he'd expected as much. Another disappointment. What he deserved. A punishment. Why should he have happiness, when he's been the cause of so much pain, so much loss.

Yes he felt jealously, and it blinded him. Made him act like an idiot. But worse still, he's done Dean a great disservice. 

"Gabe, I don't know...do you really think I got it wrong?"

"More than a little, bro. You got it very wrong."

Castiel smiles, Gabriel's words should hurt him, but instead of feeling wounded (they're true, after all) he feels relief. He was wrong about everything, misinterpreted everything Dean said, and Castiel's smile grows.

First thing tomorrow he's going to go find Dean and apologize. He just hopes Dean is still willing to give him a chance.

"Gabe, I think I have a great deal of apologizing to do." 

"Aww, Cassie, you don't need to say you're sorry to me-"

"I meant Dean."

"Oh, yeah. Dean, right, good call. Definitely say sorry to Dean. Get down on your knees and do the whole, 'love means never having to say I'm sorry', bit."

"Gabe, that's the dumbest thing I've ever heard."

Gabriel sighs, shrugs, "True dat." 

...

"Umphft!" Dean grunts, leaning as far as he can from the shower stall, without actually stepping out. "The hell is it?" 

He's alone in the lifeguards' showers - worked up a terrific sweat running himself ragged all morning - and even though he's still technically 'on-duty', he needed to get out of the sun, and cool off.

He supposes he could have just cooled off by jumping in the ocean, but at least this way he's got some privacy, a place where he can brood in peace, and won't have to witness Castiel and Meg groping each other. 

Okay, so maybe they won't be groping in public, but even if all they're doing is just standing around and talking, all Dean will see is a couple in the throes of passion, each devouring the other with a greedy need, in lust, and in love.

It's why he's been avoiding them all day. Or at least, Castiel. Dean can't bear to see him. Not yet, anyway. Not after he explicitly expressed his distaste in dating Dean. Yeah, it's going to be a while before Dean can even stand to be in the same space as Castiel.

Luckily he's on Alistair's crew. And that means there’s zero, to no chance, of them crossing paths. Especially since Castiel supervises his teams’ training mainly around Gabriel’s station, and Alistair likes to exercise his group, around his station.

"Come on..." Dean gasps, teetering on the edge of his stall. He could just walk out and shake himself off if he wanted too, but there's always the possibility of getting caught. But it's not like Dean's body-shy, far from it; Dean knows he looks good, he's been told often enough by all of his past partners to ever doubt it. But that's actually why he'd rather not be seen in the 'flesh', so to speak. He doesn't want to be accused of trying to tempt anyone, or entice them, possibly lure them away from their current girlfriend with his considerable attributes.

No sir, Dean's here to do a job. Not nab himself a boyfriend or, God forbid, use his God given good looks to steal someone else's man. He'd never stoop so low.

"Almost..." He grits, exhaling when his fingertips brush against the coarse edge of his towel. He grabs it, pinching carefully between thumb and forefinger, then curses when it's yanked away. "Damn it!"

"Looking for this?"

...

"Gabe?"

"Hmm?"

"Ah, have you, by any chance...because I haven't-"

"Wha?"

"I mean, I haven't seen...and, he signed in this morning. But I haven't seen him. I hope he didn't have a relapse."

"What?"

"A relapse? Perhaps he pushed himself too hard. I wouldn't put it past him. He's so dedicated and-"

"What are you going on about?"

"Where's Dean?"

Gabriel snorts, amused, he loves how worked up his brother gets right before he goes after something he really wants, something major and life altering. He'd love to tease him about it too, but he won't, not yet, at least. Castiel is still unsure, wary, and capable of backing out at the slightest provocation.

"Don't worry. He's here." Gabriel winks. "I saw him jog towards the showers."

...

"The hell, Alistair?"

The Captain smirks at Dean, runs his eyes up and down every inch of skin he can glean, but he can't see much, Dean's modesty is well protected behind the stall's half-wall. "Oh Dean," he sighs, hunger darkening his beady eyes, "is that any way to address your superior?"

Dean clenches his jaw, his fists, his whole body, and curses at himself, he must have been insane to volunteer for Alistair's crew. 

"I'm simply trying to hand you your towel." Alistair grins, sinister smile wide and benevolent, tone innocent while his eyes drink-in every inch of Dean's naked flesh. "Here." He offers, taking a step closer, mouth dropping open when he gets an eyeful. "Dean-" he gasps, suddenly out of breath, the young man is even more beautiful than he ever imagined. "come over for dinner," he begs, "once you've toweled off, of course." But instead of handing over the towel, he holds it, just out of reach.

Dean's had enough. He steps out, feet squelching on the wet tiles, grits out and angry, "Thanks," and yanks his towel free, "but, no thanks." 

Alistair braces himself against the wall, head heavy and muddled, he feels assaulted, but in the best of ways. His dizziness has nothing to do with the heat in the room or the lingering moisture in the air, but from the miles and miles of unblemished skin on display.

"How about a little privacy." Dean snarls, wrapping the towel tightly around his hips, trying to keep his tone neutral, but failing. "Well, what do you want?" He asks, after too many seconds of Alistair's ogling. 

Alistair tsks and pushes off the wall. He steps right up against Dean's body, revels in the heat coming off of it, and replies, "Dean, we both know what I want." Then places his hand on the towel's edge, fingers teasing at the knot, and tugs, "And you want it too. Or at least, you will."

"Step back, Alistair." Dean warns, but he's the one that moves, the revulsion he feels is only exceeded by his fear. "Let me tell it to you in words you can understand. You don't stand a chance in hell. Got it?"

Alistair cocks his brow, smiles, checks his fingernails, bored. "Dean," he sighs, disappointed, "how can you be so ungrateful? Especially after everything we've been through. After everything I've done for you." He takes a step forward, and stresses, "And, for Sam."

Dean holds Alistair's gaze, keeps his ground, suppresses the overwhelming urge to bolt, and manages to keep quiet. Alistair has got him dead-to-rights, Dean does owe him. Big time. 

"Of course," Alistair adds, calculating and manipulative, "I can think of several ways you can repay me." Then edging nearer, he grabs the towel's edge, and tries to pull it open.

But Dean holds tight, and gets free. 'Look." He huffs, taking another step back, but Alistair follows, closing in and looming, lips pursing for a kiss. "Yeah, I definitely owe you...everything." Dean admits, panic settling in. "But, ah...I'm dating Chief Milton. And it's pretty serious." He claims, blurting out the first thing that came to mind.

Alistair's breath stutters, it can't be. Last time he checked, Meg still had a tight grip on Castiel. Dean must be lying. But it doesn't matter. In the end, significant other or not, Dean will belong to him. 

"Chief Milton?"

"Heh, yeah, kind of sudden. I know. In fact, he's probably still not, ah, not use to the idea, himself. But, yeah, He and I...ah, we, we really hit it off." Dean stumbles clumsily through his lie, hoping beyond hope that Alistair doesn't call his bluff. Or worse yet, confront Castiel about it. 

"Hmm, you and Chief Milton?" Alistair hums, the foul stench of his stale breath making Dean's stomach churn. "Yes, very sudden." He's standing only inches from Dean, but at least no longer moving, eyes glued to the younger man's lips. "So sudden, that I'm sure even his fiancé hasn't heard about it."

The fear and nausea Dean was feeling from Alistair's proximity, is quickly replaced with grief. It's ridiculous and inexplicable, but he feels...loss. Like mourning. Learning that Castiel is engaged feels like...the end.

He's been such a fool, acted like such an idiot. No wonder Castiel wanted nothing to do with him.

"Oh dear, didn't you know?" Alistair asks, all innocence, yet smiling. "I hope I didn't ruin their surprise. Although," he reconsiders, again leaning in for a kiss, "it is common knowledge."

But Dean pushes him off, and Alistair stumbles, the slippery floor making it difficult for the older man to right his footing, and he falls.

"Aw, fuck!" Dean curses, rushing to help him up. "Sorry, man. I'm so sorry."

"Dean-" Alistair hisses, pulling himself up while simultaneously pushing Dean to his knees.

Dean's falls with a heavy thud, stunned, his towel comes undone. 

"Castiel has lied to you." Alistair lies, eyes growing large from Dean's nakedness. "Made you promises, while already belonging to another. Can't you see?" 

Dean stares up, towel forgotten, he doesn't want to believe Alistair, but it all makes perfect sense.

"I'm your only true friend now." Alistair promises, hands moving quickly to undo his pants. "I saved you. Your father, your brother." He removes his belt, opens his fly. "Castiel will betray you. He already has!" Palming his erection, he vows, " I'm here for you." And pulls out his dick.

"What the hell is going on!"

Alistair knows that voice, the thundering boom far too familiar to belong to anyone, but Castiel. "You're interrupting us, Castiel." He says, stepping aside to reveal Dean.

"Dean..." Castiel gasps, horrified. "I...get dressed, then get out!” He orders, teeth clenched, hands fisted. 

Dean stares back at Castiel, mortified, sees fury in his eyes, and feels shame. But then he remembers what Alistair said - Chief Milton is engaged - and glares in return. Castiel has no right to interfere in Dean's business, or care who he fucks.

"Hmpht, yeah," Dean smirks, wiping phantom saliva from his lips, "we just finished." He stands up, leaves the towel on the floor, and walks off towards the locker room, never looking back.

The ensuing silence is deafening, but it's quickly shattered by an obscene moan. "Mm," Alistair hums, licking his lips, "that boy can certainly suck dick." He turns to face Castiel, hard length still in his hand, gives it a few lazy strokes, then tucks himself away. "Were you looking for me?"

Castiel doesn't speak, he can't, his mind is still trying to process what he just witnessed.

"Or were you looking for my new, protege?"

_No!_

Castiel wants to scream, to curse, to cry out. He shakes his head vigorously, no, no, no! 

_No!_

Dean can't be Alistair's new protege! He can't be Alistair's new lover. But then why was he on his knees?

_No! No! No!_

Castiel needs air. He's suffocating. He can't breathe. He needs to get away. He spins on his heel, slipping in his haste, and storms out, door slamming heavily in his wake.

Alistair laughs and claps his hands; for once, Castiel's impeccable timing has worked out in his favor. He's delighted with Dean, too. The boy played along beautifully. Alistair couldn't be more pleased. But he's no fool, he knows things are still uncertain. The situation between Dean and Castiel, more delicate than ever. He needs to handle it with great care.

He still has work to do. 

Castiel and Dean must be kept apart. They can never get together, never compare notes, never speak. If they did, all of his plans would fall apart. 

He knows what he has to do. But he needs an accomplice. So without wasting anymore time, he buckles his belt, tidies his shirt, then fishes his cell phone out.

"What?"

Alistair grins, not bothered, in the least, by the rude greeting. "It’s your turn." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Borrowed a line from a fav Metallica song, Sad But True, for one of Alistair's lines. See if you could spot it.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel shakes his head, he can't allow himself to get distracted, he needs to focus, to get through his apology, and not wallow in misery. Dean deserves better. He's said that from the first, and it's more true now, than ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We have ignition!

"Whoa there, cowboy!" Gabriel jogs down his tower's steps and chases after Dean, calling out to him while trying to catch up. "What's the hurry?"

Dean doesn't slow, doesn't even turn around to reply, just hollers over his shoulder, "Punched out. Off duty now."

"Come on, Dean-o, hold up!" 

"It's Winchester." Dean snarls, angry and confrontational. He turns on the spot, heads back towards Gabriel, and adds, "Dean Winchester, okay. Not Dean-o, or cowboy, not hey-you, or hot-shot. Just Dean Winchester. Got it?"

"Jesus kid," Gabriel frowns, face scrunching from the unexpected assault, "who pissed in your Cheerios?"

Dean presses closer, his larger frame easily eclipsing the smaller man. "Forget it," he says, exhaling through his nose, "I'm outta here." 

"Dean-o, oops, I mean, Mr. Winchester, wait around for a minute, okay. Cas, I mean, Chief Milton, is looking for you."

But Dean doesn't listen, he ignores Gabriel's request and heads straight for the boardwalk. 

"Come on," Gabriel calls to him, "you'll be glad you waited. I promise!"

"If it's to tell me he's engaged,” Dean shouts back, not pausing in his retreat, “I already know. Congratulate him for me, okay!"

"Engaged, that's weird.” Gabriel wonders what Dean means by that, mulls the word over for a second, then speeds up to stop Dean from leaving. "Cassie isn't even seeing anybody." He argues, reaching out to grab Dean by the arm. "Where the hell did you hear that?"

Dean thinks about jerking his arm away, pushing the lifeguard back and sprinting for his car. But Gabriel's honest confusion, makes him pause. "Look, it's okay." He replies. "The cats out of the bag. No biggie. And if it's a surprise, I won't tell anybody, alright. Trust me, I already forgot about it."

"Phfft, yeah." Gabriel scoffs, then starts turning, his grip on Dean's arm, iron-like. "Let’s go to my office and talk, okay."

"No!" Dean snaps then tries to yank free, but Gabriel's grip doesn't loosen. "Gabriel,” he grunts, “let go."

"Sure," Gabriel replies, but instead of releasing Dean, he steers them towards his tower, "once we get to the bottom of this, then I'll let you go." 

"I've got nothing to say to you." Dean grits out, but follows without a struggle. Why bother, even though he towers over Gabriel, and has at least thirty pounds of muscle over him, the smaller man is more powerful. 

They walk in silence and ignore everyone they pass. When they get to Gabriel's office, Gabriel shoves Dean through the door, says, "Get in." Points to an empty chair, orders, "Sit down." Then says, "Now talk." 

Dean takes a seat, he might as well, he knows Gabriel won't let him leave until he's gotten what he wants. "What the hell is it you want to talk about?" He asks, voice tight, but deadly calm. He's trying to be pleasant, but it's impossible to hide the hostility rippling through his system. 

Gabriel doesn't answer immediately. He sits at his desk, makes himself comfortable, steeples his fingers under his chin, and then, with his eyes locked on Dean's, and with no trace of his perpetual smile, replies, "Who told you that my brother is engaged?"

"Sorry if I ruined the surprise." Dean grumbles, brow creased, lips pursed. "He’s probably going to announce it over the PA system, or some shit. Right?" 

Gabriel chuckles, Dean is just as pouty as Castiel. What a pair they'll make, he muses, then asks, "Wrong. Now give me a name." 

Dean searches for an answer, but refuses to give his source away; Alistair may be a big bag of dicks, but in the end, he did Dean a favor and told him the truth about Castiel. "Maybe I heard it from Chief Milton." He lies. "Maybe he couldn't wait to tell me." 

Dean leans forward, ass on the edge of his seat, finger jabbing cruelly at his own chest. "Maybe that's why he turned me dow-” Dean cuts himself off, snaps his jaw shut, mutters a curse; he's said too much, dammit, given too much away.

It's too late, however, Gabriel's heard enough. Or at least enough to start guessing at the rest. 

"Turned you down? Is that what this is all about?" Gabriel grins. "I knew you asked Cassie out!" He loves it when he's right. "And you're all pissy because you think he turned you down? For someone else, too. Man, oh man," he whistles, "you two really are perfect for each other." 

Dean scowls, "Yeah, it's hilarious. And what do you mean 'perfect for each other'?"

Gabriel grins, he can't wait to set Dean straight. "Listen, kid, and listen well. One, Castiel, my brother and your beloved Chief, is a hopeless romantic. And for some reason he's got it into his thick head that he'd like to pursue a romantic relationship with you."

"With me?" Huh, yeah, and three's a crowd, dude. I'm sure his fiancé won't be too keen on that idea."

"Two," Gabriel continues, ignoring Dean's comments, "Castiel is not engaged. He's not even seeing anyone, or sleeping around, or kissing, hugging, holding hands, or otherwise romantically linked with anybody. Anywhere. Least of all Meg." 

Dean snorts, it's all the same bullshit. "Thats not the way they came across the other day." He sits back, stares at his hands, grimaces, he doesn't want to think about it. Think about them. "The other night, all of that kissing and groping, what was that all about? Huh? Meg was practically giving the guy a lap-dance!" 

Gabriel bristles, Dean's right. Meg did put on quite the show the other night. Painted herself all over Castiel. Made it look like they were a goddamn couple.

"Damn her!" He curses, slamming his fist against the desk. "Okay. Sure, I know it looked bad. But trust me, she and Cassie are not together. At least not anymore. For a really long time, now."

"Hmpht."

"And that display she put on," Gabriel could strangle her for it, for trying to ruin Castiel's chances with Dean. "it was all one-sided. Promise. She was just jealous. Of you. She gets all possessive and grabby whenever Cassie looks at anybody else. Again, you. Castiel wants you. And she knows it. He's been looking everywhere for you, all day, just so he could to tell you."

Dean shakes his head, he doesn't believe Gabriel for one second. "Then why...why did he turn me down?” It's torture talking to Gabriel about this, humiliating himself over Castiel, making himself vulnerable. But he needs to know. “When I asked him out. If he likes me so much.” Dean can't believe he's actually doing this, but he has to know. “Why did he turn me down?"

Gabriel can't believe the shit he's hearing, couldn't make it up if he tried. So he laughs. 

"Again, with the laughing?"

"It's just that...that," He wheezes, clutching his belly, "you thought Cassie was with Meg." He keeps laughing, wiping tears from his eyes. "And...and, that idiot thinks you're dating Lisa!"

"Im not." Dean protests. "He knows that. I told him."

It's takes Gabriel a few seconds to reply. This is serious, this is real. Time to sober up. "Look Cassie saw you two together. And then, when you started talking about dating and rule books, and how you could date a coworker if you wanted to, well, that assbutt just assumed you were talking about you dating Lisa."

"He's wrong." Dean slumps is back in his seat, runs his hands through his hair, notes again how long it's gotten, how blond it probably is by now, and yanks at it. Dealing with Chief Milton is Incredibly frustrating. "We're not dating. And I never could. Not when I'm already..." He stares up at Gabriel, holds his gaze and confesses, "I'm crazy about the guy." 

Gabriel studies Dean, really looks at him, sees the truth behind his words, in his eyes, and nods. "Heh, yeah, he's nuts about you too." 

They're quiet a moment longer, each man assessing what the other has just learned, when Gabriel remembers the reason they're in his office in the first place. 

"So who's the jerk that lied to you about Cassie being engaged?"

...

"I know!" Meg hisses, tone clipped, snide, she can't stand Alistair, wonders why she even puts up with his domineering. She’s waiting for Castiel in his office, opens the blinds, and peeks outside. "Look, boss, you don't have to tell me how...no...of course it's what I...he's here!" She hangs up and rushes to the other end of the small room, plopping down on the tiny sofa and grabbing a magazine just before Castiel walks in.

"Hey there, baby."

Castiel throws her a cursory glance, heads to his desk, grabs his bag, checks his pockets for his keys, then turns to leave.

Meg's up and on him before he reaches for the doorknob. "Where you off to?" She asks, throwing her arms over his shoulders and knocking his bag off. "Why not sit with me for a while? Huh?" She traces the creases across his brow with the tip of her finger, and tuts, "Aww, baby, what's wrong? What's with the frowny face?"

Castiel pushes her off, he doesn't have time for her games. "I'm taking the rest of the day off." He replies, curt, cold. "You're in charge...or you can call Hannah in. But if you need anything, Alistair is around."

"Oh, Clarence-"

"I've told you," he snaps, jaw clenched, lips tight, "not to call me that."

Meg shrugs, grins, "Remember when you liked my pet names? When you liked me?" 

"Meg, for the love of everything that is holy," he exhales, looking down at her upturned face, "let go if me. Please." 

Meg knows that what he's really pleading for is a complete break, to be rid of her permanently, and she falters. She's never had to beg before, and it's humiliating. She deserves better. She can have better, but her pride won't let her give up. No, Meg will never let Castiel go. Never. 

"Come on," she whispers, on her toes, she kisses his neck, kneads the tense muscles of his shoulders, coos, "remember how we used to be? How attentive you were, you couldn't get enough of me." She hums, remembering their love-making, "You used to make a meal outta me."

Castiel laughs, an amused huff. "Are you really referencing, AC/DC?" 

Meg shrugs again; she knows how much Castiel enjoys his heavy-metal music, and uses it to her advantage. "Can't blame a girl for trying. Gotta do what I gotta do to get my man back."

"But that's exactly the point." Castiel sighs, pressing his forehead against her temple. "I'm not you man. It's over Meg." He places a kiss against the soft skin there, then holds her at arms length. "It's been over for a long time." He hangs his head low, and murmurs, "Ever since Luke."

"Baby," she cries, reaching for him again, "I'm so sorry about...what happened. I've changed. Okay. I swear! I learned my lesson. I'll never stray, again!" She lifts his head with both hands, strokes the cleft in his chin, looks into his eyes, sees his sorrow, and feels deep regret. "Give me one more chance." She begs, and kisses him. 

Castiel doesn't want to give her another chance - he doesn't trust her, doesn't want her, least of all her kisses, but when her tongue pushes past his lips, his body responds. 

"Mm, yeah, that's it." She moans, louder this time. Loud enough to carry through the door. Loud enough to stop Dean in his tracks and from barging in.

Dean stands there, just outside Castiel’s door, frozen in place, one hand on the doorknob, the other, ready to knock. Then he hears it again, another moan. 

He should turn and walk away. Leave this place and forget what he just heard. But then he hears another soft whimper, one laced with pure pleasure, with need, with lust, so he side-steps towards the window, and regrets it immediately. 

The scene is erotic, borderline pornographic, but Dean can't look away: Castiel, feasting on Meg, devouring her with his mouth and his hands. Meg pressing her body against Castiel's, wrapping her thigh around his hips, gyrating, grinding, greedy for more.

Then Meg whispers something into Castiel's open mouth and guides his hand towards her breast. Castiel cups it, squeezes it, Meg mewls, and Dean flees.

...

"I want you." She sighs. "No one will ever want you like I do."

Castiel hums his approval and pulls her closer. He cups her ass, fondles her breasts, trails tiny bites down her throat, down her shoulder, drinks in her perfume. It makes his head swoon and he growls. He forgets himself, forgets what she's done, forgets Dean. 

And he's so desperate for the distraction, desperate to feel something other than...heartache. So he tears at her top, yanks it aside, and exposes her breasts. She's warms and soft, utterly desirable. Castiel cups her, cradles her, bends low to kiss the soft swell, rub the pad of his thumb over the nipple, bends lower to suck, to lap, to suckle. 

But the passion isn't there, there's no desire, no real want for him. He's on automatic, just going through the motions, his muscle memory taking over, taking what's offered, what he thinks he needs. 

"Oh, fuck yeah." Meg gasps, pulling at his hair.

Castiel moans, groans, and grunts, grinds against her. He chases her mouth, chases an escape, a dream he's had for years, an ideal he's been after. He chases Dean. 

"I knew you still wanted me." Meg pants, but her voice sounds wrong. Castiel can't stand the sound of it. 

“Oh, baby." She groans, beyond turned on, or at least pretending to be. "Just like old times." 

Castiel responds in kind: just as fevered, just as hungry. Because it is just like old times. Just like when they first started dating. Castiel was instantly enamored; Meg was enchanting, bewitching, and beguiling, a real catch. 

But it wasn't just her beauty that called to him; Meg was unlike anyone he had ever dated. She was bright, brave, and brash, quick-witted and cheeky, independent and thorny. But then she grew bored, and cheated on him, betrayed his trust, lied to him and turned to another. Devastating him. Just like now, just like...Dean. 

_Dean_

Bitterness engulfs Castiel, and once again, he's left feeling the fool. But this time it's because of Dean. He's vulnerable because of Dean. Turned to Meg, because of Dean. Kisses her harder because of what he saw. 

But it's no use. In the end, no matter what (or who) he does, no matter how hard he tries to erase those hateful images, the ache in his heart, consumes him.

_Dean_

Castiel grunts in frustration and pushes Meg away. 

_Dean_

Castiel can't escape him, not with a substitute, not with alcohol. "I'm sorry," he exhales, running his hand roughly across his face, "it's over, Meg."

"Oh, Clarence." Meg pouts, not really surprised by the sudden turn. She goes to the couch, takes a seat, straightens her hair, tidies herself, then, after a tense minute, says, "It's that Dean kid, isn't it."

"Yes." Castiel replies, brutally honest; he's done protecting Meg from the truth. 

"Oh you poor whipped fool." She huffs, then shrugs, "Heh, I figured as much." She smiles, but it's sad, melancholy. She holds Castiel's gaze a moment longer, then admits, "Well, I know when I'm beat." And gets up.

"Meg-"

"Don't, okay. Just...don't." She laughs softly at his pained expression, but then kisses him on the cheek, pats him on the ass. "I get it." She tells him, really meaning it. She's not heartbroken at all. "I finally do." 

"Meg...I-" 

"Please," she stops him, finger pressed against his lips to shush him, "save me the pity speech." She drops her hand and goes to the door. "Now go do me favor, and tell that very pretty boy, how you really feel." 

Castiel chuckles, a dark humorless sound. "Dean doesn't want me. He...that is," he coughs, clears his throat, "I saw him with Alistair, earlier." He shakes his head. "No, Dean doesn't want me." Then nods. "He's made his choice." 

Meg laughs out loud at that. "Trust me, sweet-cheeks, that boy does not want Alistair." She wrinkles her nose then shivers. "Bleh!"

"But Alistair...they were-" Castiel insists, still not convinced.

"Hmpht, you let me worry about Alistair." Meg tells him, hand on the doorknob. She opens the door, steps through it, but then pokes her head back in. "Go get him, tiger."

...

"No..." Dean cries, head thrashing from side to side. "Please," he begs, "you gotta save her!" 

He's having the same nightmare, again: he's on his parent's sinking boat, crying for his mother, while desperately trying to keep his baby brother safe. But just like last time, there's something different, an unexpected element, and Dean's dream takes on a more urgent twist. 

"I promise..." He swears, "I'll take care of Sammy." He’s choking, fighting, grappling, reaching for a lifeline. "Cas,” he calls out, “Cas, please!" He yells, and falls to the floor. 

He lands on his elbow, and groans, then laughs, "You're a goddamn mess, Winchester." 

He stays on the floor for a long while, stretches out and gets as comfortable as he can on the hard surface. He thinks back on his dream, surprised when he can still recall every detail. But instead of buckling under the terrible weight of remorse, grief, and regret, he grins; Dean actually feels...okay. His dread has dissipated, his fear, dampened, and he's inexplicably comforted with the knowledge that everything will turn out alright. 

He suspects it's because of Castiel. But why? Castiel wasn't there that night. Was he? He couldn't have been, it was Alistair that saved all of their asses. 

"Damn it." Dean curses, and jumps to his feet. 

It's just after two am, but he knows sleep won't be coming anytime soon. So he throws on his sweats, and drives to the beach.

...

"Dean!" Castiel shouts, swimming with all of his might, furious strokes that don't seem to get him any closer to the crying children. "Hold on-" he pleads, stroking faster and harder. But he's still miles away.

"Almost there. Just a few more-" then he's grabbing, wrapping his fingers around a large, muscled, bicep. He pulls the large man against his chest, lifts his bobbing head from the water, and cries out, horrified. "No! No!" He shouts, staring into sightless green eyes. "Dean!"

Castiel shoots up, brow damp, hair matted, arms reaching for the dead man. "Argh." He groans, wrapping his arms around his middle, he's going to be sick. 

It's the same old nightmare, the one he's had on and off for the past twenty years. But this time, instead of saving the children (the only worthwhile deed in his life) it's Dean he's let down. Dean that he's lost. Dean that's gone.

"I'm so sorry, Dean." 

Castiel wants to apologize in person, would have done so the previous evening, but he never found Dean. He even went back to the locker rooms (as much as he dreaded what he might see again) but still, no Dean. 

It wasn't until after Gabriel mentioned that Dean had also been looking for him, that Castiel stopped in his search and raced to the parking lot, hoping to catch him by his car. But still, no Dean. 

So he clocked-out, said his good-byes, and went home. He wanted to get a good night's rest, get his head on straight, maybe rehearse what he wanted to tell Dean when he eventually found him. But sleep wouldn't come, not at first. He tossed and turned - for what seemed like hours - only to wake with shout. 

"Damn it." He grumbles and checks the time. "So much for a good night's sleep." He mutters, throwing off the bedsheets and sitting up. 

It's just past two am, and with sleep no longer an option, Castiel decides to go for a run; it's the only thing that will calm his racing mind and hopefully ease his aching soul. 

...

"Hmmm..." Dean hums, standing by the water's edge, trying to decide if he should, or shouldn't, swim out towards the buoy. The same one that caused him to lose ‘First Place’, the same one that stirred deep seeded memories of that horrible night. The same one that brought him face to face with his past.

"Fuck-it." He mutters, peeling off all of his clothes, and running in.

...

Castiel is a sweaty mess by the time he reaches the water's edge. A swim, he thinks, would be the perfect antidote. And it's while he’s teetering on one leg, trying to pull off his sneaker, that he spots him: a man, far out in the ocean, a tiny dot in the distance that's headed straight towards the buoy. 

Castiel wastes no time, he tears off his remaining garments, and runs into the water. 

He swims fast, this is no dream, and before Castiel knows it, he's on top of the man. "It can't be." He says, then shouts, "Dean!"

Dean stops mid-stroke, startled, then spins around looking for the source. "Cas?"

An instant later, Castiel is by his side, shouting, "Of all the irresponsible and foolish-"

"Jesus, Cas!" Dean shouts back. "You just about gave me friggin heart attack!" 

Castiel takes a deep breath, treads effortlessly in the strong current, then says, "I'm sorry. But you know perfectly well that you're not allowed to be out this far at night. Especially alone. Ever."

Dean shrugs, an infuriating roll of his shoulder, and counters, "You do."

"Fine." Castiel relents, he wants to argue, needs to make Dean understand his concerns, but first he needs to get him away from that damnable buoy and back to shore. "Follow me back. And try to keep up."

"Wait! Did you just say, 'keep up'?”

Castiel smiles to himself, the comment was deliberate and it achieved the desired effect. Now he doesn't have to look back to know if Dean is following (he's kept the pace slow and easy to manage for his sake). No, it's the rude, and actually quite funny, commentary spilling in a continuous stream from the disgruntled young man, that confirms Dean is close behind. 

…

Back on land, Castiel heads straight to a nearby locker, punches in the combination, and pulls out several towels, promptly dropping them when he turns around.

"Dean..." He gasps, eyes like saucers.

"Hmpht." Dean snorts, standing with his hands on his hips, legs apart, defiant, and gloriously naked. "Take a picture," he snarls, "it'll last longer."

What a great idea, immediately crosses Castiel's mind, but then he drops his eyes, gestures towards Dean's body, the towels, and apologizes, again. "Sorry, I didn't know you weren't wearing any..." 

"Well now you know." Dean replies, then shamelessly walks right up to Castiel, throws him a stormy glare, and bends over to grab a towel. "You're not gonna tell me it's against the rules to go skinny dipping, too. Are you?"

"Ah, well, actually, yes." Castiel says, looking back up. "It is against the rules." But unfortunately his eyes land on Dean again, and his breath catches; in the light of the full moon, Dean's body sparkles from the myriad of droplets that cover him from head to toe. Castiel’s eyes travel slowly across his broad chest, trail down his arms, and towards his bowed legs, all the while wondering how anyone could be so beautiful.

“Hey," Dean shouts, snapping his fingers across Castiel's face., "my eyes are over here."

Castiel falls back a step, and Dean snorts, wraps himself in a towel, and bends over to grab another one. "Here." He says, throwing the towel forcefully at Castiel's head.

"Umphft!" Castiel grunts, again caught off guard. But maybe now he'll be able to string more than two words together. "Thank you."

They dry off in silence, both aware of the need to speak, to air out their grievances, but each afraid of the potentially disastrous outcome.

"Why did you swim out there?" Castiel eventually asks, it's a relatively safe of question. "You know it's against regulations to be out alone, at this hour." He looks up, dares to meet Dean's eyes, keeps right on drying himself, huffs, "But, I'm sure you already knew that."

Dean shrugs, nonplussed, borderline, aggressive. "Yeah, maybe." 

Castiel sighs, he needs to change tactics. Dean's still very angry with him and Castiel knows he has to apologize, but where to start. 

"Dean," he exhales, takes another breath, thinks for a moment, then says, "I looked for you. Earlier. After...well, just after." It's stilted and awkward, but at least true.

Dean frowns. "Yeah? So? What did you want?"

"It was Gabriel, actually. He told me you were also looking for me. So, ah, why were you looking for me?"

"Seriously?" Dean scoffs, throwing his arms up in the air, then he turns and starts searching the sand for his clothes. He finds his underwear, shakes the sand from them, and slips them on. 

"Dean?"

"Forget it." He throws over his shoulder, adjusting himself. "It was nothing."

Castiel knows he's losing Dean fast. Time for plan B. "Dean, I'm sorry." 

Dean freezes, his search abandoned, turns and meets Castiel's eyes, and refuses to be affected by the misery in their depths. "What was that?"

"I'm sorry-"

"No. I mean, yeah, I heard what you said." He strides right up to Castiel, stands within inches of the Chief, and asks, "What are you apologizing for?"

 _For everything._ Castiel wants to say. _From misjudging to, to underestimating you. From my unfair reactions, to causing your mother's death._

A slew if reasons cross Castiel's mind, and he quakes. "Everything." He replies, hoping to encompass all of them. 

"Like wha-"

"Dean, I've treated you unfairly since...well, since we first met."

"Cas, look-"

"No," Castiel says, stopping Dean and urging him to listen, "please, let me say my peace, Dean." He pauses a beat, and at Dean's nod, resumes. 

"I've underestimate you." He huffs, smiles, it's sad, regretful. "From day one, Dean. From the first moment I laid eyes on you, I misjudged. I made assumptions, mistakes. So many, mistakes." 

Castiel shakes his head, he can't allow himself to get distracted, he needs to focus, to get through his apology, and not wallow in misery. Dean deserves better. He's said that from the first, and it's more true now, than ever. 

But nonetheless, images of Dean with another person filter through and threaten to taint his apology. Castiel fights it, though, forces his anger to fade, pushes his uncharacteristic jealousy, aside. But he can't ignore the emptiness left behind, and he shudders, grabs Dean by the shoulder, then quickly pulls back, cradling his hand as if is burned. 

"Argh!" He grunts, yanks at his hair, admits, "Dean, I know it's not my place to tell you who you can, or cannot, date. Even if that person happens to be...Alistair." It's like gargling with battery acid, speaking that foul creature's name, so he laughs, misses the mark by a mile, but barrels on. 

"You're free to date whomever you choose. Heh," he repeats, smiles, grimaces, "it's certainly not my place to judge, or comment. And definitely none of my business." 

"Cas-" Dean says, but it's soft, cautious; Castiel doesn't hear him.

"I...the other day, when you brought up dating a coworker, I actually thought you were referring to yourself and Ms. Braedon." Castiel laughs again, a forced bark. "Again, I misunderstood, and reacted, well, poorly. And I'm sorry for that too."

Dean finds his voice, asks, "You thought I was talking about Lisa?" he shakes his head, says, "I told you we were just friends."

"Yes." Castiel agrees, eyes glassy. "Like I said, I misunderstood." He takes a step closer, reaches out, dares to put his hand on Dean's shoulder, says, "I should have known you meant...Alistair."

Dean flinches as if slapped, bites his tongue, holds back a laugh, how Castiel think so little of him.

But then he remembers what Castiel saw, and hates himself for it: Dean buck-naked, on his knees, his head obscured by Alistair's bare ass. No wonder the guy's got such a low opinion of him.

But fuck him. It's not like Castiel has any room to judge. He's the one with a steady girlfriend. He's the one that lied to Dean and said he wasn't seeing anybody, when he totally was. Dean is the one who has been cheated.

 _So yeah, fuck Castiel._

"It's true then." Castiel says, his face a mask of misery. "You and Alistair?"

Dean hardens his heart, even though it weighs heavy on his guilty mind; he's not going to deny it. But his hands itch to reach back, so he fiddles with the knot on his towel, instead, and grits out, "Yeah, and so what if I we are?" He shakes off Castiel's hand, misses its warmth and weight immediately, but ignores it. Castiel isn't his to hold or to comfort. Never was. 

"Last I checked, Chief, you don't have a say in my love life. And besides," he snorts, glaring daggers, "looks to me like you've already got your hands full. So why don't you and Meg go off and enjoy your own little office romance, while I'll enjoy mine." 

Castiel wants to double over, Dean's words hit him like a punch to the solar plexus. "Of course," he responds, voice impressively steady, "you can see who ever you want. Even if it is..." He refuses to say that name again, "But just so you know," he adds, eyeing Dean as if seeing him for the first time, "Meg and I are not dating."

This time Dean does laugh, but it's cold, without humor. "You're one cold hearted sonofabitch, you know that Cas."

Castiel doesn't reply, simply looks on, his expression blank, unreadable.

"You're not dating?" Dean scoffs, it's his turn to get a few things off his chest, and he means to do just that. "You see, in my book, when you kiss somebody and hold them, grab their ass," he snarls, hissing the words through tight lips, "and go at it the way you two were yesterday, well," he huffs, jabbing an accusatory finger at Castiel's chest, "it does mean something."

"You...what?" Castiel is confused, why would Dean accuse him of those things? How could he know? He doesn't think Meg blabbed. On the contrary, she encouraged his pursuit of Dean. So how? Unless...

"Dean, did you stop by my office yesterday?" 

Dean doesn't reply, clamps his jaw tight, glares, he won't back down, not this time. 

Castiel sighs, his face softens, Dean's silence confirms his suspicions. "Yes," he agrees, "you're right. It does mean something." He's not going to lie, or cover up the what he's done, he just hopes Dean gives him the chance to explain. 

"But it's not what you think."

Dean snorts, folds his arms across his chest, waits for an explanation. 

"Its true, Meg and I kissed yesterday. But only because of what I saw." Castiel takes a cautious step closer, he desperately wants Dean to believe him. "Dean, I needed a distraction."

Dean snorts again, laughs, frowns, "Not gaining any brownie points, Cas."

Castiel huffs in frustration, he's getting nowhere, fast. "I used Meg. I wanted to forget. I couldn't stand..."

"Couldn't stand what? Huh? That you were on duty? That you weren't somewhere more private? Somewhere you could really have your way with each other? Huh, Cas? Bet you couldn't wait to get her home, where you could really...really enjoy her, right? Well" Dean hisses, getting right in Castiel's face, "looked like you were doing a pretty good job of forgetting. You definitely looked distracted-"

"Dean!" Castiel shouts, cutting off Dean's tirade. "I used Meg because I needed to forget seeing..seeing you with Alistair!"

Dean falls a step back. "Why?" He asks, moving back another foot. "Why would you even care? Cas, you and me, we just met. I'm nobody to you."

"You're wrong, Dean." Castiel replies, boldly taking Dean's face in both hands, smiling softly when he doesn't pull away. "We didn't just meet. I've known you, Dean, for years now. And I've never forgotten you. I've never stopped caring."

"Cas...what?"

"I've cared about you since you were a boy, Dean. Since I first held you in my arms. Since I pulled you and Sam from the water."

The confession startles a gasp from Dean; Castiel rescued him. It all happened the way he remembers it. The way he's dreamt it. His memories are accurate. Dean exhales, he's never felt such relief.

"I've dreamt about you." Castiel whispers, inching closer, leaning towards Dean with his body, with his face. "Wondered how you were doing. If you were well. If you were...loved." He tips his head nearer, looks deeply into Dean's eyes, says in an even softer tone, "When I saw you with...another, doing things...it was more than I could stand."

"Cas," Dean sighs, eyes on Castiel's lips, head tilting towards their plushness, "Alistair and me, we...nothing happened. I swear."

"Oh thank god." Castiel exhales and crashes their mouths together.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's no doubt, no inner struggle, and despite the fact that they've only just met, again, sorta, Castiel knows that what he's feeling is so much more than physical need, and he quakes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Behold, porn! Wonderful, explicit, finger-lickin-good, porn!  
> Hope you enjoy!

Castiel has never been in love before. 

Until now.

Sure he’s had strong feelings for past partners, but none ever captured his heart. 

Until Dean.

Although in Dean’s case, it's more like he captured Castiel’s entire soul, exposed all of his inner desires (their enormity and depth knocking him flat on his ass) and then enslaving his poor heart.

It's been a whirlwind of emotions since then, but in truth, Castiel has always loved Dean, or his memory, at least. The love he felt was innocent, at first, protective and nurturing, the kind one naturally feels for a terrified child. But then he met adult Dean, and that quickly changed.

Castiel’s feelings for that ‘tragic little boy’, matured, at first sight. His ‘parental’ instincts and the innocence of his intentions, slowly transforming into a need he had never felt before, a feeling so strange and so different, so very foreign to Castiel, that it overwhelmed him. 

Castiel thinks it's love. It has to be. 

Or is it?

Castiel can't make such a monumental decision while looking at Dean, he doesn't want to confuse the euphoria coursing through his veins, with lust, but then he gazes into Dean’s eyes, and almost doubles over from the intensity of emotions gazing back at him. 

There's no doubt, no inner struggle, and despite the fact that they've only just met, again, sorta, Castiel knows that what he's feeling is so much more than physical need, and he quakes. 

…

The full moon is high overhead, bright, and they bask in its glow. 

Castiel reaches up and tucks a long, sun bleached, strand of Dean’s hair, behind his ear. “Dean.” He says softly, like an endearment, then tops it off with kiss. 

Dean hums, leans into Castiel, brings his arms around the Chief’s waist, and pulls him closer. “Cas,” he sighs back, and laughs, a warm exhale into Castiel’s mouth. “And here I was thinking you didn't even like me. That all I could hope for was…friendship.”

Castiel freezes for a second, because how could Dean think that? If anything, the opposite is true. “No Dean,” he laughs back, “I like you. I like you very much. More than just as a friend.” 

Dean looks at Castiel, searches his eyes, tries to find any hint that he might be teasing, or worse yet, lying. But he finds none, only clear sincerity staring right back at him, and tightens his grip. 

They stand that way for well over two minutes: arms wound tightly around the other, bodies rocking gently, neither speaking, at least not with words, warm, despite the coolness of the night, their shared body heat, the only thing keeping them warm. 

Very warm, in fact; despite being mostly wet, their bodies reflexively respond to the heat and arousal building between them. 

"Dean..." Castiel says again, softer this time, pronouncing Dean's name like a lover would. "Wanted you...for so long." It's a plea, one Castiel has never made before. Because he's never felt like this before, or wanted like this before. With no regard or consideration for anybody else, only catering to his and Dean's needs, their mutual satisfaction the only thing that matters.

Because only Dean matters.

"Me too." Dean says between kisses. "Dreamed about you, Cas...always wanted you. Only you."

Castiel responds with a vengeance; his kisses grow more forceful, his mouth, more demanding.

And Dean loves it, revels in it, moans and grows harder from it. He opens his mouth wider to Castiel, sucks on his tongue, wraps his arms around his shoulders, and brings him closer. "Fuck..."

"Yes..." Castiel agrees, with every fiber of his being, and attacks Dean's neck, thrilled by the younger man's excitement. "Dean-" he says again, mouthing at the fluttering pulse point, returning Dean's passion with the same urgency.

Dean nips at an earlobe, rubs his erection against Castiel's, and whispers, “You gonna fuck me, Cas?" 

"Yes." Castiel agrees, to anything, and everything, Dean wants; he's not about to deny himself, or Dean, any longer. 

He drags a damp hand down Dean's bare back, fingers the elastic edge of Dean's briefs, then teases for a heartbeat before slipping inside. 

Dean grunts, jerks forward, begs, "Come on, Cas-" and shows Castiel exactly how much he wants him with his mouth and his hands.

Castiel keens from the assault, kneads Dean’s ass, runs a finger between both cheeks, and moans from the feel of it, the smoothness of the skin down there, how silky and hot it is to the touch. 

But then Dean pulls away, mutters, "Cas...wait." 

And Castiel gasps, "...why?" But he knows why. He's overstepped and presumed, Dean was acting in the heat of the moment, and has now, changed his mind. "I'm sorry..." Castiel says, dropping his eyes, he doesn't recognize himself, what he was doing, or was about to do: have sex on the beach. "I won't...that is, I'll leave you to get dressed-"

"What?" Dean hisses, grabbing Castiel by the hand. "You think I wanna stop?" But he doesn't wait for a reply, he kisses Castiel instead, takes the Chief’s face with his free hand, runs a thumb over his lips, then presses gentle kisses against their plushness. "You idiot." He whispers, rubbing his nose against Castiel's. He pulls back, just far enough so that he can look into Castiel's eyes, and swears, "Castiel, I've never wanted anything more in my life." 

Dean couldn't be more serious. He's dreamed of this moment for years: of finally being in the presence of the mysterious man that has haunted his dreams for decades, and showing him exactly how hard he's fallen for him. 

Of course, some would argue that Dean’s feelings are simply gratitude, an overblown manifestation of his desire to repay the debt he thinks he owes. That he's romanticized a memory, that it can't possibly be lust – despite the fact that he's fucked himself with his fingers countless of times with his blue-eyed savior starring in every single one of his fantasies – or even love. Especially not love. And perhaps they'd be right. 

But the reality of it is, that dream or no dream, heroic rescue or shared traumatic past, the moment Dean met Castiel, he was totally screwed. 

“How could you still doubt me,” Dean asks, then laughs, a soft happy sound that fills Castiel's heart with inexplicable joy. "I want,” he waves his hand between them, “you. This. But just not here. Okay? Anybody could see us. And I don't want the cops throwing us off the beach like a couple or horny teens, either. 

Castiel nods, too relieved for words. 

"Good." Dean says, eager to get back to what they were doing. He grabs a large stack of towels, picks up their scattered clothes, then linking their hands together, asks, “Ready?” And without waiting for a reply, tugs Castiel along and and says, "Good, let’s go." 

...

It's still dark out, but Dean guides them easily towards his favorite hiding place. 

“Careful with your head.” He warns, hunching over. “Some of these beams are low enough to give you a good whack across the head.” 

They're under the boardwalk, and it's darker still, but with the light from the overhead street lamps – as well as the full moon’s beam filtering in between the overhead boards – they quickly reach the spot Dean set up before going for his swim.

"Well,” he announces, letting go of Castiel’s hand, “here we are.” 

Castiel looks around, sees Dean's sneakers, a back-pack, his requisite windbreaker, and…

“Is that a sleeping bag?”

Dean looks at the little nest he's set up for himself, and worries, cheeks heating up with embarrassment. Castiel probably thinks he’s been planning this all along. 

“Yeah. But it's not what it looks like.” He rubs the back of his neck, it's a nervous gesture, and why is he so nervous now? “I couldn’t sleep. And well, when that happens, I come out here and… just the sound of the ocean…and well, I'm out like a light.” 

Dean cringes on the inside, he can't believe how guilty he sounds. What must Castiel think? That I'm certifiable, that’s what. 

And the more Dean thinks about it (and the longer the silence between them stretches) the more convinced he is that bringing Castiel to his special place, was a shit idea. 

“Look, forget I brought you here, okay. We can go back.” He motions towards the beach, takes a step in that direction. 

“Dean.”

But, honestly, I didn't bring my sleeping bag out here because I thought we were going to, well, you know, screw around, or anything. I mean, yeah, I guess I did. I mean, now, I do. After we…you know.”

“Dean-“ Castiel repeats, louder this time, trying to get Dean’s attention. 

But Dean doesn't hear him, he's too distracted with his own anxious musings to hear anything above the din in his own head.

“I always bring that bag with me. Most of the time, anyway. It's because I like sleeping out here, by the ocean, the sound of the crashing waves. You'd think I’d hate the water, after, well, you know, everything. But, I do. Actually, ever since I was a little kid-“ 

“Dean!” 

But Dean’s stuck on a tangent, and way too distraught to notice when Castiel closes the distance between them, and pulls him in for a hard kiss.

“Cas?”

“Shh…” Castiel shushes, doing his best to kiss Dean’s anxiety away, hand coming up to gently caress the side of his face, “I believe you.”

Dean smiles back. “You do? I mean…yeah,” he closes his eyes, presses his cheek against Castiel’s open palm, “’course you do. I, ah, just wanted to make sure you knew I…never mind.” He laughs softly, leans in for another kiss, and feels grateful that at least one of them remembered why they're here, in the first place. 

...

They kiss their way towards Dean’s makeshift bed – arms wrapped around each other, hands clasped, bodies pressed chest to groin -- then Dean trips. 

He looks down, sees that the zipper on his sleeping bag is undone and laying open, and that the surrounding area has been carpeted with towels. “That was fast.” He smirks, then drops to his knees.

“D-Dean…” Castiel stutters, spreading his legs further apart when he sees what Dean intends to do.

“This okay?” Dean asks, looking up at Castiel through his long lashes, lips curled in a cocky grin. He winks at the Chief (Dean wasn’t really expecting an answer) and presses his face against Castiel’s clothed erection. He moans and hums, inhales deeply, and groans from the scent.

"Oh-“ Castiel croaks, knees buckling, then bracing himself on Dean’s shoulder.

"Mmm..." Dean replies, mouth full, sucking Castiel’s length through the fabric while his own dick fattens further.

But it's not enough for Dean, he needs more. “Wanna taste you.” He murmurs, and with an impatient grunt, grabs hold of Castiel’s swim-shorts, and pulls them down, eyes growing large when Castiel’s cock springs free. 

It's gorgeous and Dean’s mouth waters. He takes it in one hand (the hot girth, velvet smooth and rock hard in his fist) and holds onto Castiel’s thigh with the other. He parts his lips, laps at the head with the flat if his tongue, and moans; the free flowing precum makes for a potent aphrodisiac, and is quite possibly the best thing Dean’s ever tasted. It gets him impossibly harder and his dick, heavier. 

He needs to touch himself.

Dean starts jerking off, moans while sucking Castiel’s cock, slurps and swallows, hums, groans, then gags, chokes, and coughs; his technique may lack finesse, but it's the most erotic thing Castiel has ever seen, and it's all he can do to keep from cumming.

“Dean-“ Castiel says, voice coarse, gravel-rough. “Stop…” he begs, “stop, please wait.” He pulls away and his cock slips free, all wet and sloppy from Dean’s mouth. He staggers back a few steps, takes his cock in hand, but resists the urge to stroke it, to beat-off hard and fast to the sight of a debauched Dean on his haunches (the younger man’s dick sticking up proudly over the elastic edge of his briefs, will fuel Castiel’s fantasies for a very long time to come) and instead, closes his eyes. Castiel needs to get himself under control, and looking at Dean right now, would greatly defeat that. 

He takes a deep breath then exhales it, makes eye contact only when he’s capable, nods towards the sleeping bag, and orders, “Come.” Holding out his free hand for Dean to take.

Dean looks up, a bit dazed, eyes blinking rapidly as if waking from a trance. “Cas?” He asks, low and husky, throat sore, but in the good way, and takes the offered hand. He eyes Castiel’s other hand, the one holding that gorgeous cock, and licks his lips. He already misses it, the taste, the weight on his tongue, the way it filled his mouth, and he wants it back. So he gets to his feet, and let's Castiel steer him towards the bed. 

“Lay down.” Castiel instructs, and Dean does as he's told, thighs falling open when he's flat on his back. 

He stares up at Castiel, and bites his lip; Dean wants him so badly, he physically aches with need. ‘Come here.” He says, holding out his hand and spreading his legs wider, but the cotton against his erection is borderline painful (stretched out and too taught) so he shimmies out of his briefs and kicks them to the side. 

It's a small relief. 

Dean's dick needs attention (the same way his hole craves Castiel's cock) so he wraps his fingers around his shaft and jacks it, slow and steady, begging Castiel to take him. “Cas, please, come on.” And starts fingering himself. Dean is a real pro at stretching his hole, and maybe if Castiel sees how eager and ready Dean is for him, then maybe he'll hurry the fuck up.

Castiel’s eyes darken and he laughs, a low, dirty, sound; Dean is glorious, a heavenly vision, yet sinful and pornographic, his dream come true. But nevertheless, Castiel takes his time. 

He has to, despite the fact that he'd love nothing more than to plow right into Dean, fuck him raw and make him call out his name until he loses his voice, Castiel needs to pace himself, or this will all be over, embarrassingly fast.

“So impatient.” He simply tsks, movements slow and methodical, peeling off his shorts and tossing them aside. He drops to the carpeted sand, gets on on all fours, and crawls until he's looming over Dean. “And I like it.” He says, breath a heated tease, light as a feather across Dean’s lips, but then he sits back on his knees, and Dean curses.

“Fuck,” Dean swears, growing both more aroused and more impatient with Castiel’s pace. He's never had to beg for dick before, but for Castiel, he'll do anything. So he takes a breath, wills his dick to calm down, and with an impressively steady voice, begs, “…please.” Then juts up, a feeble attempt for friction.

"So needy…” Castiel tuts, trying for unaffected, but with his voice dropping octaves deeper, and his fist stroking at a furious pace, he gives away his own desperation. 

He needs to take a breath, to center himself. So he closes his eyes, inhales, exhales, and then opens them again, but instead of the calm he seeks, his heart rate speeds up; he’s in love with Dean, there's no doubt. 

“Dean, I…” No, it's too soon. Dean is liable to bolt if Castiel were to say those three little words right now. And Castiel wouldn't blame him. “You're... perfect,” he says, instead, eyes roaming freely over every inch of naked flesh spread out beneath him, “…and now, all mine.” It's a fact, one spoken more to himself, than to the quivering mess looking up at him. 

But Dean hears him too, and nods, “Yours.” He pants, short of breath, then he rears up, captures Castiel’s mouth and pulls him down for a passionate kiss. 

Their kisses quickly turn frantic and their hands, more aggressive, both men needing proof that the other is real, that what they're feeling, is mutual.

Castiel finally lays down, carefully aligns their bodies from chest to toe – both men gasping when their dicks briefly rub against each other, moaning and grinding when their dicks are pressed snugly between their bodies – and resumes his assault on Dean’s mouth. 

Dean responds with a grunt, with a groan, wraps his legs around Castiel’s waist, and gasps, “Cas-“ over and over, whispers praises, swears his devotion, almost lets slip the ‘L’ word, but in the end, catches himself, and swallows his feelings, soothes the ache with Castiel’s mouth, with his hands, with the weight of his body pinning him down, and keeping him grounded. 

All too soon, and Dean is almost there. So he reaches between their bodies and takes hold of Castiel’s cock, strokes it, presses it against his own, and cries out; he’s ready to cum.

But incredibly, Castiel pulls off again, sits back, and tells Dean, “Not yet.” 

Dean curses at him, vows vengeance, tries to close his legs around Castiel, and pull him back. 

But Castiel easily holds Dean’s legs open, and smiles, chest flexing from the exertion. “Not unless I say.” He stresses, and pulls them further apart, exposing every delicious crevice to his view, then sighs, “You really are perfect.” 

Dean’s face flares red hot, but his dick twitches, a heavy weight on his hip leaking a long glistening trail towards his thigh. “Damn it, Cas-“ Dean kicks out, tries to take back control, but fails, then Castiel drops to his elbows, moistens his lips, leans in to have a taste, and Dean yelps. 

Castiel licks and sucks, stabs at Dean’s hole – insistent little jabs that have Dean squirming in his arms and crying out for more – but again, Castiel pulls away.

“The hell!” Dean shouts. 

“Patience.” Castiel tuts, he doesn't want this to end, not so soon. He wants this to last, wants to stay here until the chill of the night is replaced by the warmth of the rising sun, until the sound of the crashing waves is replaced by the gulls’ morning cries, until he's surrounded by the sound of early morning beach goers, and experiences the thrill of being caught, just like two horny teenagers. 

This behavior couldn't be more out of character for him. But this is him now, carefree and reckless, hedonistic and lustful, possessive and in love. And all because of Dean.

Castiel squeezes his shaft and bites back a moan. It's never felt so thick before, so heavy, so…hungry. But he ignores it and settles over Dean’s leg instead, studies the area for a beat, zeros in on a particularly enticing cluster of freckles, and sucks a bruise there, marvels at his brand, and moans, audibly this time; the pleasure he derives from such a minor mark, legion.

“Fuck-“ Dean can't take much more of this teasing, and bucks, the well aimed move positions his erection perfectly against Castiel’s mouth, and that's all it takes. 

Castiel echoes Dean’s cry, parts his lips, and takes Dean’s dick into his mouth.

Dean cries out again, a breathless plea, grabs fistfuls of Castiel’s hair, and forces Castiel to take him deeper. 

And Castiel does. He holds his breath, swallows around Dean’s dick, and groans, a throaty rumble that resonates throughout Dean’s body. 

Dean is so close now, almost there, he just needs a little bit more, so he holds Castiel’s head in place (Dean's not going to let him pull away this time) and thrusts, and thrusts, and thrusts, fucking Castiel’s face.

And Castiel loves it, doesn't register discomfort or pain, not now, not when he's finally got Dean’s dick in his mouth; the world could be ending, the apocalypse could be nigh, and all Castiel would know is, Dean. 

Head bobbing, lips stretched wide, Castiel sucks and sucks, he trails a spit coated finger towards Dean’s pucker, then breaches it, pulls his finger back out, then gently pushes it back in, over and over, builds a steady rhythm, then swallows, throat clenching around Dean’s dick, and Dean shouts.

It's all a blissful blur after that, with Dean murmuring nonsense and Castiel working up a good rhythm, they're in synch and getting closer to their breaking point. 

But then Dean falters and his hips stutter, “Cas-“ he pants, pulling his dick from Castiel’s mouth. “Cas...stop…stop, or I'm gonna cum.” He's had a change of heart, he intends on cumming a couple of more times before the night is over, but Castiel sucking his brains out through his dick, is definitely not how he wants their first time to end. 

“Thought you wanted to cum.” Castiel's says, gazing up at Dean between the ‘v’ of his legs, tone innocent despite the dick in his hand. 

"Yeah...” Dean says, “wanna cum, but with you in me.”

Castiel’s jaw drops and he scrambles to his knees, climbs over Dean, but then pauses, looks around as if searching for something, and exhales, resigned. “I want to, but-“

“But what?” Dean demands, tone sharper than he intended. He's on the brink, ready to cum, but craves a deeper connection; he wants to feel Castiel, wants his cock filling him when he spills.

“I don't…” Castiel starts, hesitant, apologetic, “that is, there's no lube. Or a condoms. We can't-“

Dean scoffs, dismisses Castiel’s distress, but not unkindly. He stretches his arms, reaches for his jeans, pulls out his wallet, says, “Sure we do.” Then tosses him a packet of lube.

Castiel stares at it for a long second, picks at the foil, but doesn't open it.

“What's wrong, now?”

“Dean,” Castiel sighs, meets Dean’s anxious gaze with his own, replies, “…condom?”

Dean throws his head back and huffs, a loud exhale through his nose. He mulls the situation over, says, “Look, I'm clean. I mean, I haven't been with anyone in a really long time. And besides, I just got tested. At the physical. So if you're clean, well then, I'm okay going bareback. That is, if you are.”

Castiel’s mouth drops open. "Dean, I’ve never had unprotected sex.” Not even with Meg, and she was incredibly persuasive. But Castiel never permitted it. He's glad he didn't do that with her, and would love to share this with Dean, but he still hesitates; it's not easy relaxing a lifetime of ingrained habits. 

“Yeah.” Dean exhales, downcast. “Look I get it. Forget I said anything. Don't know what the hell even got into me-“

"I'm clean too!”

“Wha?” Dean asks, hopeful but cautious, he knows he's asking for a lot. But his worries are short lived; Castiel has already torn open the lube packet and has started coating his fingers with its contents.

“Spread your legs.” Castiel orders, dropping to his elbows, kissing Dean’s bent knee, then pressing a thumb to his hole. 

Dean hisses from the coolness of the gel, but then it warms and he lets his head fall back. He can't look at Castiel right now, he’ll cum too soon if he watches Castiel prep him.

So he closes his eyes, listens to the ocean, to Castiel’s breathing, then feels the slide of a slick finger along his cleft, feels it tease his rim, a gentle pressure against his hole, and sighs, “Cas-“ 

“I've got you.” Castiel promises, and pushes a finger in, starts working Dean open. He quickly adds a second finger, gently corkscrews the pair in and out, and reaches for Dean’s dick, he starts sucking, pulses his fingers in time with his throat, then swallows, immediately inserting a third digit.

“M’fuck…ready.” Dean swears, body wracked with pleasure, "Cas-“ he gasps, reaching down and pulling Castiel off. “I'm ready.”

And so is Castiel.

He gets back on his knees, generously slicks himself up, then places the head of his cock against Dean’s entrance. 

Dean feels the insistent pressure and tenses, Castiel is huge. He swallows, takes a deep breath, and pushes down, eager for penetration, starving for this intimate connection. “Come on-“ he grits out, and pushes down again.

“When I say.” Castiel murmurs back, mouthing the words against Dean’s throat, sucking a mark there for all the world to see. He swipes his dick teasingly between Dean’s cheeks, thoroughly coats the crevice with lube, then lines himself up again. 

“Please…” Dean begs, and Castiel whispers, “Please, what?”

Dean’s mind stutters; how can Castiel be so cruel, how can he be so calm? “Please…Chief.” He blurts, hoping it's the right answer.

“Perfect.” Whispers Castiel, and pushes in.

They groan, it's bliss, and hold still for a heartbeat: Dean forcing himself to relax, Castiel forcing himself to last.

Dean’s body quickly adjusts around the massive intrusion, but then Castiel pulls out and Dean is left hollow. 

No! Dean wants to scream, But then Castiel grabs hold of Dean’s calves, exhales a heated, “Dean-“ and slams back in.

Dean grunts from the impact, a shaky breath punched out with each successive thrust, then curses, pivots his hips, wraps his legs around Castiel’s waist, and pulls him deeper, buries him to the hilt.

Castiel bites back a cry, Dean feels exquisite: tight, hot, and perfect.  
He circles his hips, grinds into Dean, pulls out, sucks in a deep breath, then pushes in again, hitting Dean’s prostate.

“God!” Dean shouts, grabbing Castiel’s arms, wrapping his fingers around the tightly corded muscles and holding on for the ride. 

And what a ride it is, the best of his life, all lust, need and want. 

Castiel breathes heavily above him, lips frozen in a half-smile, gazing at Dean as if he knows what Dean is thinking, then pulls out, gets on his knees, hoists Dean’s leg over his shoulder, realigns himself and punches back in, fucking Dean good and hard (just the way Dean likes it) within an inch if his life, desperate and all consuming, with their bodies thoroughly connected and every exposed patch of skin tacky with sweat.

Dean cries out, he can't hold out much longer, and neither can Castiel. All too soon the sensuous roll of his hips stutter, and he pants, “Touch yourself. I want…want you to cum for me-“

Dean immediately grabs his dick, furiously fucks into his fist, gasps a strangled, “Cas-“ and cums, taking Castiel along with him.

…

It's minutes later – feels like hours, days, a lifetime – when they finally peel apart, Castiel falls to his side, Dean, on his back.

“Hey.” Dean smiles, catching Castiel’s eyes and reaching for his hand.

Castiel returns Dean’s smile, whispers a bashful, “Hey,” and links their fingers together, “was that okay?”

Dean answers by rolling over and straddling Castiel. “Yeah, Cas,” he replies, kissing every inch of skin within reach, “that was pretty fucking okay.” Then bends over to show Castiel just how much he's enjoying himself, when he hears an odd rustling nearby. “Did you hear that?” He asks sitting up and looking for the source.

Castiel cranes his neck, looks to where Dean is pointing, and shakes his head. “Just the wind.”

Dean stares a beat longer, tries to penetrate the darkness with his eyes, then shrugs. “Yeah, guess we're not the only ones out here enjoying the…surroundings.”

“Maybe what you heard were a couple if horny teenagers.” Supplies Castiel, and they laugh, soft and intimate. 

“Yeah, maybe.” Dean agrees, and sighs, then winces; he hopes it wasn't too audible, or that he didn't sound, too needy. 

But on second thought…

Dean’s way past the point of taking ‘whatever the hell it is they have between them’, at face value, anymore. Castiel is it for him, Dean’s sure of it. Castiel is the one person he's been waiting for his whole life, the single missing piece to his fucked-up puzzle. 

This is it.

“Cas, I-“ he starts, ready to declare his feelings for Castiel. And why shouldn't he? This is definitely love – and it feels as wonderful, as it does terrifying. 

"Yes, Dean.”

But then Dean loses his nerve. Now is not the time and here is not the place to blurt out something so monumental, especially not to a man he just met. Especially not after just fucking. 

“Dean?”

Dean rocks on Castiel’s lap, shrugs, “N’ah, it was nothing.” Then bends over to press a kiss over the frown he created on Castiel’s brow. “I promise, it was nothing.” He swears, adding a slow sensual roll of his hips to ease away the building tension.

Castiel swivels his hips in response to Dean’s delicious gyrating. “You sure?” He asks, still fearful that Dean will call an abrupt end to their romance.

But he need not worry, Dean answers with a kiss, and Castiel tightens his hold, bounces Dean on his lap, and their dicks rub against each other.

"Jesus, Cas,” Dean grinds down, awed by the effect Castiel has on him, “it's like I'm a friggin school boy when I'm around you. Constantly sporting a boner...”

“Well,” Castiel grins, eyes trailing down to the tight space between them. They land on Dean’s beautiful dick, on his own impressive erection, remarks, “I'm hardly a boy, but it seems my body reacts the same way when I'm around you.” Then he takes Dean’s dick, swipes the head with his thumb, and starts stroking it, breath hitching when Dean licks his palm – thoroughly coats it with saliva – and returns the favor.

Mere minutes later, lying side by side, chest, stomachs, and groins coated in cum, toes still curled in the sand from their shared pleasure, Castiel points out, “You know, it's still a few hours till sunrise.” He runs his fingers through their mingled cum and rubs it into Dean’s skin.

“Yeah.” Dean replies, sleepy and content.

“Yes. And, well, if you'd like, I mean, if you're agreeable, then maybe rather than staying out here for the remainder of the night you could…that is, my house is near here, and right on the beach. You can hear the ocean. It will help you sleep. I mean, earlier you said-“

“Cas,” Dean interrupts, fully alert, now, “are you asking me to spend the night with you? At your place?”

“If you're agreeable.”

Dean smiles, kisses Castiel, “Yeah, I'm agreeable.”

…

They untangle themselves, clean up as best as they can, and clear away the mess that they made. 

"Sure you don't want a ride?” Dean asks, hands clasped tightly with Castiel’s. “Or you can just come with me. I won't be that long. Just drop off a note, grab some clean clothes…”

Castiel cups Dean’s face, strokes his cheek, sweeps overlong bangs from his forehead, it's tender and intimate and Castiel’s chest tightens, suddenly too small for his beating heart. 

“I'm tempted, but I want to…tidy up, first.” It's mostly true, but if Castiel doesn't take a moment to gather himself, he might do something foolish: begging Dean to move in with him because he won't be able to bear the thought of not waking next to him, being at the top of his list. Dropping to one knee and professing his undying love, not far behind. 

“Aw, Cas, don't go through any trouble because of me. Forget it-“

“Dean, go get your things.” Castiel opens the car door and ushers Dean in, bends at the waist, and kisses him, all tongue, heat and desire, a promise of what awaits him upon his return. “I'll be waiting for you, so don't take too long.” 

Dean is loathe to leave Castiel’s side, even for a little while. But Sam and Bobby will be royally pissed if he doesn't at least let them know he's okay; he doesn't want them to worry. And besides, from the the way Castiel is acting, it looks like he wants a break from Dean, too. 

Of course Dean doesn't blame him, figures there's only so much the guy can take of his clingy ass before shouting, ‘Uncle’. 

“’Kay,” he says, low and despondent, “see you in a few-“ 

Castiel kisses him again, harder this time, and with more heat, says, “Please Dean, hurry. I miss you already.” And Dean shatters inside, heart swelling to twice its size, he's so fucking in love. 

It's as if Castiel was reading his mind and knew that he was feeling insecure, and then knew exactly how to make him feel better. 

“You sap.” Dean says, but then he grabs a fistful of Castiel’s t-shirt and kisses him back. “I'll see you soon.”

They gaze longingly into each other's eyes for a few more precious seconds, then Castiel stands back and closes the door. “Soon.” He insists, and leans down for one last kiss. 

“Soon.” Dean promises and smiles. He starts the ignition, puts the car in gear, throws Castiel a cheeky wink, and pulls away, cranking up the radio and singing along to what's playing, he's so fucking happy.

Castiel watches Dean drive off, stands there until the car is just a tiny dot in the distance, and sighs, “Soon.” 

“Oh, I don't think so.” 

Castiel starts to turn, wants see who muttered those words, when suddenly, everything goes black.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel wishes he could see Dean one last time, longs for it desperately. He'd love to give him one more kiss, tell him exactly how he feels, without filters or fear of rejection. It really is a pity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for gore and torture, and for a heck of a ride! Enjoy!

Dean never could sneak into his house, not with the rumble of the Impala alerting, first Sam, then Bobby, of his arrival.

“Couldn't sleep, huh?” 

Dean jumps about twenty feet in the air. “Sam!” He yelps. “You trying to give me a heart attack?”

Sam laughs, yawns, stretches his long arms over his head, rubs at his eyes then checks the time. “Coming back to bed? Or... do you want some company?”

Dean turns back to the note he was writing, crumbles it up and tosses it into the kitchen’s trash can. 

“What was that?” Asks Sam, eyeing the trash can then zeroing in on Dean’s duffle by the door. “You going out, again?” 

“Yeah-“

“The hell you are.” Bobby grouses, lumbering into the room. “Boy, the only place you're going back to, is bed! You forget you just got out of the damn hospital?”

“I know-“

“And spending the night out on the beach ain't exactly part of your PT!”

“Bobby, I know. And I'm not going to be out on the beach, okay. Not exactly. I mean, I'll be on the beach…but ah, I'll be in a house. A friend’s house.”

“Friend?”

“Dean,” Sam walks over to the trash can and peers inside – fingers itching to pluck it out and read it – but he thinks better of it and decides to confront Dean instead, “none of our friends have a beach house.”

“Well, this one does, okay. Christ, it's not like you know all of my friends.”

“Ah, yeah, I do.”

“Impossible-“

“What's his name, then?” Asks Bobby. “And where exactly on the beach is his house?”

“Come on Bobby, are you serious?” Dean shakes his head, reaches for his bag, and turns towards the door. A strong hand on his shoulder stops him in his tracks.

“Dead serious, boy.” Bobby steers  
Dean to a chair and shoves him down. “Spill.”

Dean stares at the menacing pair, and gulps. It's not that he doesn't want them to know about him and Castiel. But what if it's nothing? What if it's just some awesome sex between coworkers, and nothing more. What then? Sam and Bobby would have gotten their hopes up for nothing, end up disappointed again, and never let Dean hear the end of it.

“Just a friend okay. No one you know.”

“It's that Castiel, fella, ain't it.” 

“What? Cas? No!”

“Oh my god, it totally is!” Squeals Sam. “Dean, that's so cool. Chief Milton really likes you, you know?” He laughs, “D’uh, ‘course you know.”

Dean pinches the bridge if his nose, runs his hand over his face, rubs the back of his neck, looks between his brother and uncle, exhales; he's got to set them straight. “Look, it's not like that, okay.”

Twin snorts. 

“Listen you two, I hate to break it to you, but Cas and I are just friends. Alright? So don't go planning our wedding, just yet. Got it.” 

“Yet.” Parrots Sam, then air quotes, “’Cause you're ‘just friends’.”

“Look, think what you want.” Dean gets back up and reaches for his bag. “I'm outta here.” 

"Seriously though," Sam says, clapping Dean on the shoulder, "I think it's great how you're okay with dating him. You know, considering, well," he shrugs, "you know."

Dean pauses, turns and asks, "Considering what?" All of the sudden he gets the feeling that he's missing something. Something he should know. Something vital.

Sam's brow crinkles. "Are you being serious?" He asks, because how can Dean not remember? "Dean," he says, not sure how to put it, but certain Dean would want to know. "You know Castiel is a Milton. Right?"

Dean makes a 'd'uh' gesture, then a 'wrap is up' gesture; he's eager to get back to Castiel. 

"Okay," Sam says, searching his mind for the right words. He wants to put it mildly, delicately. The last thing he wants is for Dean to turn against Castiel. "Dean," he says, planting both hands on Dean's shoulders, "Michael Milton, was Castiel's brother." 

"And?" Dean asks, and then it dawns on him. Of course, the other lifeguard on duty _that_ night, his name was Michael Milton. 

It suddenly makes perfect sense to Dean. _That's_ why Castiel was there that night. The night that changed their lives forever. The night neither of them can forget. Castiel was patrolling with his big brother. 

"Wait a minute." Dean says, dropping his bag with a loud thunk. "You're telling me that the guy that let mom die, that he's...that Cas is his brother?"

But Dean doesn't need to hear Sam's reply to know that it's true. Because of course he is. And Dean has known all along. 

"How could you not remember? Sam asks, grounding his brother with the weight of his hands. 

But Dean doesn't answer right away, because he doesn't know the answer. So he takes a moment to process what he's just relearned, to mull it over and chew on it for a bit - to think on how this changes things between him and Castiel - before he can answer honestly. 

"I don't know." He says almost immediately, "I guess I probably just blocked it from my mind, or something. You know?" He shakes his head, drops his eyes, "But I think a small part of me always knew that Cas was related to him." 

Sam squeezes his shoulders and Dean looks back up. "I guess I didn't want to associate the one person I've blamed for ruining my life," he laughs, but it's hollow, sad, "with the one that makes me so damn...happy." 

"Dean-" 

"But I was a kid," Dean argues, eyes large and wounded, "a scared shitless little brat, full of anger. Of course I was going to blame him, and I have. I've blamed him for every miserable day, since then."

Sam nods but doesn't interrupt, he can't believe Dean is divulging as much as he is.

"Now, though, I know..." Dean bends and grabs his bag.

"Know what?" Asks Bobby.

"That it really wasn't Michael's fault. Not really." Dean sighs, because it's true. Sure Dean has suffered, but so has Castiel. They all lost that night. "It wasn't anybody's fault." He says, and turns back to the door. It's time to put an end to their grief.

Learning that Michael and Castiel are related, doesn't change a thing. Dean is still head-over-heels for the Chief of the O.R.S., has been his entire life, it seems, and nothing and no one, will change that. He just hopes Castiel will forgive him when Dean confesses how he's blamed Michael all of these years, and move past it, so he and Castiel can start fresh.

"Dean?"

"I'm okay." He swears, and means it, because he is. Dean is going to drive to Castiel's home and spend the night with him, one of many, he hopes. And even though he's not ready to tell Castiel how he truly feels, he's sure going to enjoy showing him. 

“Dean!”

“What now?”

“You be careful. You hear me?”

Dean nods, promises, “Always.” and heads out. 

…

“Have you seen Cas?”

Dean’s out of breath, in a frenzy, passed being panicked, hours ago. 

Castiel is missing. 

He wasn't at his house when Dean got there, and Dean has been searching for him ever since. He drove around Castiel’s neighborhood, found no sign or clue of his whereabouts, then headed back to the beach. He covered every inch (first by car, then on foot) but still, no Castiel. 

Gabriel looks up and his heart drops; Dean looks like over-cooked dog shit. “Kid, you look like over-cooked dog-“

Dean charges in, slams his fists on Gabriel’s desk, grits out, “Have you seen him?”

“Seen who?” Gabriel asks, dread mounting,with each labored breath Dean inhales. He pushes away from his desk, gets up and walks around, he’s got a bad feeling about this, and needs to be on his feet. 

Dean hesitates; maybe he's making a big deal out of this. Maybe the reason Castiel wasn't home and waiting for him, was because he'd changed his mind, and didn't know how to tell Dean. Or maybe he’s here, hiding out, avoiding Dean, staying out of sight because he's no longer interested.

No, that's not it. 

Castiel promised he'd be waiting for Dean, insisted that Dean hurry, then sealed it with a kiss, a deep and passionate one. Those aren't the actions of a man who isn’t ‘interested’.

“Castiel, your brother. Have you seen him?”

“Seen him? Yeah, yesterday. After that-“

“Look, we hung out last night, okay,”

“Oh really.”

“Yeah, really. Now shuddup and listen.” Dean walks over to the window, looks out, scans the area, and hopes that it will be easier to spot him, at this level. And if he does, if Castiel is here, first he’ll kiss him, then he’ll punch him on the nose. 

“Okay, I'm listening.”

Dean turns around, faces Gabriel, says, “After we, ah, Cas and me, after we, hung out, he asked me over to his place.” 

Gabriel quirks his brow, smirks, but waits for Dean to continue.

“But I went home first. Picked some stuff up, then I drove to his place. But when I got there, he wasn't home.” Dean marches up to Gabriel, grabs him by the arm, pleads, “So where the hell is he, Gabe? Huh? ‘Cause I'm freaking out here.”

Okay, now Gabriel is scared. This shit is serious. Not only is his brother missing, but the last person that Castiel would ever avoid, is panicked. 

“Calm down, Dean-o, okay. We’ll find him. I'm sure Cassie-“

“I looked everywhere!” Dean shouts, voice pitched high, tight with tension. “For hours now, I've looked everywhere.”

The knot in Gabriel’s stomach tightens, Dean is freaking him the hell out. He puts a reassuring hand on Dean’s forearm, says, “Don't worry. We’ll find him. I promise.”

…

“Dean?” 

It's dark, pitch black, and Castiel groans. He blinks, tries to clear his vision, but his eyelashes brush up against an invisible barrier, a blindfold. “Fuck…” 

He swallows, his throat is sore and his head hurts, a dull, thick ache, that throbs like a metronome.

Where the hell am I? 

He's disoriented and tries to move. But he can't, maybe a half inch at his wrists, less than that at his ankles. He twists his body as much as he can, but he's held down, there's a strap across his chest, waist, thighs, he grunts with the effort, plops flat again, exhausted, thirsty and cold. 

Fuck, he's naked. 

Castiel shivers, the chill, dry, air makes the fine hairs on his chest, arms, and groin, rise, while cold cruel metal digs into the delicate skin of his wrists and ankles. 

He's shackled, trapped, vulnerable, scared. 

“Dean!” He shouts.

But no one answers, just his own voice bouncing back at him from all corners. 

He tells himself not to panic, that Dean is safe and he'll be free in no time. That someone will come looking for him, find him, get him the hell out of this hell-hole, and rescue him.

“What do you want!” He shouts, he can't help it, he needs answers, then he hears something and freezes. It sounded like a snicker, a giggle, distant, but in the same room. “Who's there?”

More giggling, muffled as if the person laughing is trying to cover his presence behind a cupped hand. Whoever it is, is doing a shitty job, but it makes the situation no less terrifying. 

Castiel yells, “Where the hell am I? Where's Dean?” But then he inhales warm fetid breath, and gags.

“Shhh…” a familiar voice whispers, “this type of behavior won't be tolerated.” 

Castiel opens his mouth to protest, but he's cruelly silenced, instead. The next second he’s biting down on hard rubber. 

He thrashes, or tries to, his pleas are an intelligible garble, but it makes no difference; the click of a closing door and the unmistakable sound of a turning key, is his only answer.

…

Gabriel gathers everyone there, every new recruit, every lifeguard on duty, and every O.R. guard he can find, and instructs them to comb the entire beach, every tower, office, bunk house, Boardwalk, outhouse, you name it, for his missing brother.

“Where the hell are you going?” 

Dean stops, looks over his shoulder. “I'm going to go look for Cas. Where do you think I’m going?”

“I think you're staying here with me.”Gabriel replies. “Wait and see what the crew finds out and plan our next move after that.” It's the wisest course of action, as far as he's concerned. “And besides, if Cassie comes in, he’ll come here first.”

Dean’s incredulous, Gabriel can't be serious. “I'm not staying here with you. You got my number, if he does show up,” dear god, please let him show up, “then, call me.”

"Wait,” Gabriel pleads, walking up to Dean, “you have to stay with me.”

Dean stops, but doesn't turn, asks, “Why?”

“Because I need you to stop me from killing Alistair.”

…

Alistair sees them coming, has been monitoring their every move since he arrived. 

Especially Dean’s. 

And sure he got to his office late, but he needed to cover his tracks and make sure his alibi was iron-clad, before making his appearance. But no one noticed he was or wasn’t there, they were all too busy combing the beach for their beloved Chief. 

He claps his hands: applauding himself, his victory, their distress, the immeasurable pleasure he’s deriving from watching them scamper in their futile search for Castiel. 

“Alistair,” Gabriel yells, charging in without so mush as a knock, Dean at his heels, “where the hell is my brother?”

Alistair puts down his pen, steeples his fingers, measures both men with a sharp eye, says, “I beg your pardon?”

“Where. Is. He?” Dean replies, restraining the urge to beat the answer out of Alistair. 

“Where's who?”

“My brother, you sick sack of shit.”

“Charming as always, Gabriel.”

“Cut the crap, Alistair! Where's my brother?” 

“Which one? You have so many.-“

“Alistair, I swear, if you don't tell us-“

Alistair tsks, shakes his head, laughs, “Don't tell me you've lost another one.”

“Look,” Gabriel plants his fists right on top Alistair’s desk, leans over the hard surface, swears, “I'll make sure every single one of your few remaining days, are a living hell. Now, tell us, where is Cassie!”

Alistair mock-gasps, “Chief Milton is missing?” 

Gabriel lunges over the desk, manages to get his fingers around Alistair’s scrawny neck, and squeezes, but then he’s pulled off, hauled to his feet by Dean, and spun around.

“Thank you, my boy.” Alistair says, gasping for air, gingerly tracing over the marks Gabriel surely left behind.

“I'm not your boy!” Dean spits back, holding onto Gabriel to keep him from attacking again. 

Alistair glares at Dean, a warning. “Have you checked with Meg? It's her day off, perhaps Castiel took the day off as well. Went to spend some quality time with his sweetheart. It wouldn't be the first time. Those two are inseparable, you know.”

Alistair’s words cut through Dean like a lance, but he shakes it off, there's no way it's true. He trusts Castiel, believes in him. 

“Ahhh, yeah, it would be the first time.” Gabriel charges right up to Alistair, jabs his finger accusingly at the older man’s chest. “Cut the horse-shit Alistair, you know Cassie never plays hooky. He wouldn't even know how.”

Alistair eyes him coolly, unimpressed. “Then where is he, if not with his fiancé.”

“You lying piece of filth!” Gabriel lunges again, but Dean catches him in time, turns him towards the door, says loud enough so that Alistair hears, “Come on, if this douche does have Cas, I know where to look.” 

It's a bluff, but nevertheless, there's a brief flash of panic behind Alistair’s eyes. “Hmpht,” he harrumphs, sneers, “how dare you.”

Dean and Gabriel pause, listen.

“Barging in here, like a lynch mob, stupid and blind.” Alistair straightens his shirt, gathers his paperwork. “Seems to me that the only one at fault here is, Castiel. His behavior has become increasingly erratic, unprofessional. His absence today is another prime example of how unacceptable his behavior has become. I honestly don't know why Crowley keeps him on. No call, no prior notice. I’m afraid I'm going to have to report him. Maybe request that he be…suspended.” 

“You don't have the authority-“

Alistair spins on Gabriel, snarls, “Just watch me.” He makes his way to the door, throws one last taunt over his shoulder, “Good luck in your search.” And storms out.

Dean and Gabriel exchange a look. They're worried, more now than they were before this encounter; they're no closer to finding Castiel, and it scares them.

Gabriel whistles, “Man, what an asshole.”

Dean nods, says, “Yeah. But, ah, maybe we should check and see if Cas is with Meg.”

Gabriel scowls, he knows Castiel would never go back to Meg. But after the fuss Alistair just made – insisting that Castiel is with her – it's worth a try. If anything, at least it will put Dean’s mind at ease.

“Sure, let's go check it out.”

…

Despite being chilled to the bone, Castiel is coated in a fine sheen of sweat. It's been hours since his captor left, and hours since he got to work on his escape. 

Castiel has not been idle.

All of his struggling has paid off, too. Sort of. He's managed to loosen the manacle from one hand. Not an easy feat. But, by wriggling just so, stretching to the extreme, and bending his wrist at an unnatural angle (thank you yoga), he managed to reach the edge of the buckle at his waist, with the tips of his fingers. It's difficult and tedious, but he’s going to get himself out. 

So he pulls and pulls, exerts more pressure on the hardware, always careful to not wear himself out; he doesn't want to be found dead because he suffocated on a rubber-ball gag. Castiel takes careful, measured, breaths through his nose, pulls his arm towards his body, teases the belt prong with the edge of his nail, and if he could just get a little bit more give, then he'd be able to undo the leather strap. 

He pulls and does it, he gets more slack. His jaw aches but he bites down, teeth digging into rubber as he focuses on freeing himself, on picking at the prong, lifting it, urging it through the grommet, but it doesn't, and it falls, so he tries again, because he's almost got it, and it stays up this time, but then his nail tears – a worn down jagged edge that's all but useless by now – but Castiel doesn't despair. He knows he'll get out soon, and when he does, he'll find Dean, confess his crimes, unburden his soul, profess his…love. He just hopes he's in one working piece, when he finally does.

Darkness engulfs him, light headed from lack of oxygen, Castiel relaxes his body, flexes his fingers, rolls his shoulders, gets the circulation going, and starts all over again.

…

"What the hell do you mean, maybe he's here, or maybe he ain’t?”

Dean’s furious, nearly at the end if his rope, dealing with Meg’s double-talk, isn't helping.

“Either you know where he is. Or you don't!”

Meg smirks, takes her time in replying, won't allow him, or Gabriel, past her threshold. “Oh honey,” she sighs, smacking Dean on the cheek, “you didn't really think I was going to make this easy for you?” 

She steps outside, joining him and Gabriel on the porch, and closes the front door. 

Dean turns to ask for Gabriel’s advise, but finds him chewing on a hangnail. “The fuck, Gabriel?”

Gabriel shrugs, then points at the black Mercedes parked in Meg’s driveway.

“Is that supposed to mean something to me?”

Gabriel pushes past Meg, opens the door, yells into the room, “We got a problem!” Then rejoins Dean, outside. 

A moment later, Luke appears. He's buttoning up his shirt and smiling, muttering something about finding his own secret lair, when he sees the gravity behind Gabriel’s eyes, and forgets to breath. 

“What's happened?” He's suddenly very cold, something is terribly wrong.

Why isn't Castiel also here? 

Dean jumps in, “We're looking for Cas-“

Luke's heart drops. He was afraid this might happen, but he never seriously thought Alistair would be stupid enough to mess with his family.

“And I said, keep looking-“

“I swear, Meg, if you're not gonna help-“

Luke steps between Dean and Meg, smiles pleasantly at the pair, says, “Castiel is not here.” Then turns to Gabriel, “But please, come inside. Tell me what's happened.” 

...

They gather in Meg’s small kitchen, hot cups of coffee clutched in their hands, Luke bickers with Gabriel, while Meg mocks Dean.

“I practically handed him over to you on a silver platter.” Meg’s angry now, and getting angrier. “Honestly, the gall of some people!” She can't believe she sacrificed her future, her happiness, to an undeserving twink.

“Look, I know you and Cas-“

“And this is the thanks I get?” Meg cuts Dean off, she doesn't want to hear what he has to say; a sniveling brat who carelessly lost Castiel, no thank you. 

“This is a waste of time!” Dean’s fed up as well. “I'm leaving!” He storms through the house and right out the front door. “Gabe!” He calls, getting into his car.

Gabriel jogs out after him, “Sorry ‘bout my asshole brother and his demonic girlfriend.” He climbs into the car and swivels in his seat. “I know you want to head straight to Alistair’s. But you'll be wasting your time. 

“Wasting my time?” Dean can't believe what he's hearing. Is he really the only one that wants to find Castiel? “Look, if you don't want to go, fine. Just get out, ‘cause I'm still going!” 

But Gabriel doesn't get out, he exhales instead, then shakes his head. “That dick’s definitely got something to do with Cassie’s disappearance. But think about it, he's not stupid enough to actually have him at his place.”

Dean punches the steering wheel, then winces. "Fuck, I'm sorry baby.” He pats the dashboard gently, lovingly, then throws Gabriel a glare. “So what you're saying is that you don't know shit.”

Gabriel snorts, agrees, “Yeah, maybe not.” He points at Meg’s house, smiles, “But I know who does.”

... 

Luke watches Dean drive away, waits until the Impala is a black dot in the horizon, then turns to answer Meg’s question. “Yes, I'm certain Alistair has Castiel.”

Meg curses. “Then what the hell are we waiting for?” She storms out of the front room and races to the bedroom. 

Luke catches up with her. “What are you doing?” He asks, leaning against the door while admiring the view.

“What the hell does it look like?” Meg’s rummaging through her drawers and pulling out clean clothes.

Luke is by her side in three quick strides, he spins her around, gazes into her eyes, amused but full of fondness. “It looks like you're sitting this one out, my love.” And then pulls her in for a passionate kiss.

Meg struggles in his embrace, a half hearted attempt at best; she's hopelessly in love with this particular Milton. Always has been. But now Castiel needs them, and they have to hurry, speed is of the essence. She protests, “Babe, there's no way I'm not-“

Luke kisses her again, long, deep and lingering, whispers, “Yes, way.” 

She nods, lips pressed against his, putty in his arms, murmurs back, “Yes, way.” And deepens the kiss.

…

It's been hours of endless struggling, painful contorting, and agonizing wrenching of limbs from their sockets, but with extreme dexterity, agility, and finesse – as well as an overabundance of sheer determination – Castiel has managed to free one hand. 

Now, with the manacle’s dead weight dangling noisily from his wrist, Castiel tears off his blindfold and pulls out the gag. He takes a deep breath, coughs, hacks, feeds his oxygen deprived lungs, precious air. 

He looks around, twists his head this way and that, but his vision is blurry, and tries to blink away the grey haze. Luckily, the room is well lit, but it only makes it more sinister, a decidedly macabre setting. Whoever trapped him here is sure to be back soon. Castiel needs to get out, now.

First, he undoes the strap cutting across his waist, then tackles the one digging into his chest. He sits up, cracks his back, blissful relief, then frees his thighs. He moves onto his feet, has one strap almost undone, when a sinister laugh stops him cold. 

“Oh Castiel, you're not going anywhere.” 

…

Dean and Gabriel don't have to wait too long before the eldest Milton is driving past their hiding spot.

After driving away from Meg’s house, Dean parked his car in a dark corner, and together with Gabriel, waited for Luke to drive by. 

“There he goes.” Gabriel points out, bouncing in his seat with excitement. “See, told you he'd lead us to the right place.”

Dean nods, grim and silent, then waits a good ten seconds before pulling out and following closely behind. 

… 

“Why?” Castiel grunts, spitting blood, he takes another hit, this one cuts his lip, but asks again, “What is it you want?”

Alistair laughs, humorless, maniacal, screeches, “I want you dead!” And hits Castiel again. 

Castiel’s head rocks back from the impact, his cheek splits, black dots dance behind his closed eyes. “Alistair, I know we've had our differences, but this…this is insane.”

Alistair stumbles back, winded, he rubs at his knuckles, traces the brass covering them with a loving hand. “Insane?” He asks, snorts, grips Castiel by the hair, bends his head until they're at eye level; this close his eyes appear clearer, almost lucid. 

“You know,” he whispers, brushing his lips against Castiel’s blood streaked jaw, “I've always…fancied you.” His declaration is pathetic, frightful, then he gets closer, looks deeply into Castiel’s eyes and studies his face. 

He sighs, wistful, sad. “Look at you, a real heartbreaker, aren't you? With those big, pretty, blue eyes, and that gorgeous cock-sucking mouth.” He licks his lips, eyes glued to Castiel’s mouth, he's so tempted to just... take. 

“You know, for the longest time I hoped that you might be ‘the one’. My own perfect apprentice, the perfect submissive.” He sighs, presses his forehead against Castiel’s, exhales a deep breath, full of longing, yearning. “I was wrong, of course, you were always going to be your brother’s boy. Too mired in your own guilt and bogged down with useless regrets to ever truly be mine.”

Alistair takes Castiel’s face in both hands and squeezes, puckers his own lips, confesses, “I've fantasized about knocking out your teeth,” he states, managing to make the obscene, sound mundane, “then shoving my dick down your throat. Maybe then you'd shut up.” 

He cackles and leans in. 

For a terrifying second Castiel thinks Alistair means to kiss him, and he squirms; he'd rather get hit again. But the moment passes and Alistair’s eyes cloud over once again, he loosens his grip and takes an unsteady step back.

“Pity.” He says to himself, and strikes Castiel again. 

…

The building is squat, square, and derelict, but best of all, it's isolated – not a soul around for miles – and if it wasn't for the silver sedan parked in the back, anyone looking, would think it abandoned. 

But Luke knows better, has for months now. 

He's lurking outside, hiding in a far off corner the monitors can't reach, and disarming the alarm. He's completely camouflaged, thanks to his dark shirt, pants, and the cap covering his blonde hair – he's nearly invisible if you didn't already know he was there. 

"Meg pick that outfit for you?” 

Luke reacts, lightening quick. He spins, grabs Gabriel, then slams him into the wall, hissing, “What the hell are you doing here?” How'd you even manage to sneak up in me?”

“Ow!”

“Shhh, quiet!”

Gabriel rubs the back of his head, scowls, “Sneak up? Bro, I learned all my best tricks from you.” He straightens himself up, pushes his brother off, adds, “And I totally knew you'd know where to find Cassie, so we-“ 

“We?” Luke drops his head into his hands, rubs at his face, tears off his cap, exhales, and reminds himself that he loves Gabriel. “Please tell me you didn't bring that boy.”

Gabriel shrugs, “He's my ride.”

Luke turns to find green eyes glaring angrily back at him.

“You dick!” Spits Dean. “You knew all along where to look!” He's furious. He presses closer to Luke, nose to nose in the dark, warns, “If anything happens to Cas because you wasted our time, I swear…”

Luke smiles at the threat, pleased by what he hears, leans in and whispers, “Castiel is lucky to have you.”

And Dean falls back, confused, he wasn't expecting that. “Ah, thanks?”

Luke’s smile broadens, pats Dean on the shoulder, then turns back to what he was tampering with before they interrupted him. A few seconds later, they hear the soft swish of a hydraulic lock giving way, then Luke pulls down on a lever, and a door swings open. 

“Now keep quiet, and follow me.”

… 

They follow Luke inside, single file, on silent feet, each with his own agenda, but with one uniting goal in mind: to find Castiel. 

Gabriel huffs behind them.

What? Luke mouths.

Creepy! Gabriel mouths back.

The corridor they're in is dimly lit, just the maddening flickering of a single fluorescent bulb lighting their way. But it's still enough light to show them that there's only one room still in use. For one thing, the chains that criss-cross the other doors, are missing on this one. And for another thing, the door is ajar.

Luke regards Dean, then Gabriel, brings a finger to his lips, “Shhh…” and slips in.

...

The bone chilling crack of a crop, is the first thing they hear. Alistair screaming, “Why couldn't you give me what I want?” Is the next. 

Dean and Gabriel are murderous, they both want to rush in and rescue Castiel, but Luke holds them back. 

He motions for them to hold steady, to to keep still, and wait for his signal. It won't be much longer.

Alistair yells nonstop for the next few seconds, directing his rage at Castiel in the form of unintelligible gibberish, interspersed with the occasional teeth-rattling slap. 

“Why…” He asks again, pausing mid-rant, raking hungry eyes over Castiel’s body, drinking in the damage. He tosses the crop aside, but never takes his eyes off of Castiel. 

He's hard in his pants, has been since he watched Dean and Castiel fuck under the pier – the way their limbs tangled, the slick sheen of sweat coating Castiel’s back, his magnificent ass, the way Castiel’s hips snapped brutally in and out of Dean’s hole, the sounds, the ecstasy – it's a wonder Alistair didn't jump in and join them. Or better yet, slide into Castiel while he was still thrusting into Dean. 

Alistair groans, readjusts himself, the touch to his dick is almost painful, but he keeps his hand on it, rubbing it to full hardness while running his other hand, over Castiel’s body. 

“Why can't you give me that which I desire?” He asks, then slaps Castiel repeatedly, cruel strikes that leave angry red welts across his skin.

Castiel’s whole body is covered in them, but he doesn’t feel them, he only feels anger. “And what exactly is it that do you desire?” 

Alistair rushes at Castiel, strikes him again, and Dean winces, he's heard enough, and springs from his spot. But Luke holds him back, hisses, “Not yet!” And forces him down.

Alistair sneers, “You know exactly what I want!” Then searches the floor for his crop. He finds it, picks it up, raises it over his head, says, “How does that song go, again?” And starts humming, snapping his fingers to a beat only he can hear, then shouts, “I want you to want me!” 

He weaves and waves the crop over his head, brings it down, strikes Castiel across the thigh. “I need you to need me!” The crop slashes through the air, another hit, this time atop Castiel’s forearm. 

“I’d love you to love me! Castiel!” Strike. And so on.

Castiel, numb to the pain, to the violence, to Alistair’s disturbing behavior, grits out, “But you hate me.”

Alistair dances in place, replies, “True.” And nods, considers Castiel’s point a beat longer, then adds, “Now. Now, I hate you. But not at first. Not when you were young and so very ripe.” He hums and spins, a grotesque pirouette, then locks eyes with Castiel, winks, “I still want to fuck you. I never stopped wanting that.” Then let's his crop fly.

Castiel's grits his teeth and bites back a scream, he won't give Alistair the satisfaction. “What exactly do you plan to do with me?” 

Alistair regards Castiel with a steely eye, replies, “What I tried to do to you all those years ago.” Adding as if the answer were obvious, “The same thing I did to Michael.” 

He laughs out loud and feels the weight of his greatest secret, and most heinous crime, slide right off his shoulders. “The same thing I did to little Dean’s mommy.”

Dean’s breath stutters, what the hell is Alistair talking about? What exactly did he do to his mother?

Castiel clenches his teeth, swallows down the urge to scream; he needs to stay calm, level headed, he can't afford to lose himself in Alistair’s madness. He needs to know if his suspicions are accurate, if his whole life was based on a lie. 

“And what exactly is that?” But Castiel knows, he always has, or at least suspected it. And now he's finally going to learn the truth, too bad it will be immediately followed by his own execution. 

Castiel wishes he could see Dean one last time, longs for it desperately. He'd love to give him one more kiss, tell him exactly how he feels, without filters or fear of rejection. It really is a pity. “Well?”

Alistair ignores his question, replies instead, “Did you know that sweet, tiny, tot, was going around telling everyone that it was an angel, that rescued him?” He snorts, disgusted. “What a stupid little shit, wouldn't you agree? He was pretty though. I'd of taken him right then and there if his cunt of a father hadn't survived.”

“Tiny tot?” Castiel prods, he knows where this is going, he just wants to hear it. “Do you mean, Dean? The boy I saved, the tiny tot, was Dean? And the woman that drowned...that was his mother?”

Alistair gasps, “You didn't know?” Then claps his hands. “How marvelous!” 

“Alistair,” Castiel swallows, feels real fear for the first time; this is harder than he'd thought it would be, “what did you do to Dean’s mother?” He takes a deep breath, asks, “To…Michael?”

“I killed them.” Alistair confesses, without preamble or hesitation. 

The pain is immediate and all consuming, but it's quickly replaced with rage, a blinding fury that turns Castiel’s vision red. 

“You'll pay, Alistair. For what you did, I'll make sure of it.”

Alistair snorts, shakes his head, “You're so optimistic, Castiel. Just like Michael was.” He lunges, grabs Castiel by the hair, laughs, “You should have seen the look on his face when I trapped him in that cabin. He didn't know whether to be angry or... scared.” Alistair points at Castiel, cackles, “And you thought he died looking for you! That their deaths were all your fault! You played your part so perfectly, Castiel! It was…hilarious!” 

"I'll kill you. I swear it!”

Alistair throws his head back and laughs even harder, a shrill bray that completely masks Luke’s approach. 

“Oh Castiel,” he gasps, wiping at his eyes, “you really are full of fire. Even then, you were so easy to manipulate. Michael never went looking for you. He was too preoccupied trying to rescue that stupid woman…and then himself!” 

Castiel doesn't acknowledge Luke, or dare look towards the men creeping at his heels. “At least tell me why.” He asks, stalling for the inevitable. “Why Michael, why that innocent woman?”

Alistair straightens, rubs at his chin, hums, “Innocent? You really think so?” 

“Of course they were. Dean’s mother was a victim. And Michael was…was your Captain! Your mentor! Of course they were innocent!”

Alistair shrugs, rubs at his crotch, closes his eyes, murmurs a long list of lewd acts he wants to try with Castiel. 

Castiel ignores the filth spewing from Alistair’s mouth, shouts, “You killed innocent people! Tell me why!” 

Alistair’s eyes pop open, they're glazed over, empty, then he starts undoing his fly. He leans over Castiel, drags a free hand across the damage he's inflicted – a heartbreaking crosshatch of gashes, welts, and wounds. His mouth waters at the sight, and his dick gets harder. “More like ‘deserving of their fate’.” He answers, tone flat, far away. “If you ask me-“

“Okay, I'm asking.” Asks Dean.

Alistair startles, but his reaction is sluggish; with one hand on his dick, and the other fondling Castiel, his reflexes are shit. 

He's yanked off of Castiel, then flung clear across across the room, ribs snapping when his back connects with the wall, then falls, face down, cheek cracking when it hits the cement. He’s dazed, confused, mind not catching up with what just happened. 

He's pulled off the floor, picked up by his shirt collar and shaken like a rag-doll. “Tell me, you piece of shit,” Alistair’s teeth rattle comically with how violently he's shaken, “tell me…tell me why they deserved to die?” 

Alistair's head lolls, it hurts to breath, but at least his vision clears, and he smiles when he sees it’s Dean; the boy is even more beautiful than he remembered. 

“Dean,” he slurs, lifting shaky arms to Dean’s bulging biceps, “I'm so glad you're here, my boy. You can help me with Castiel. We... we can share him. You and I. We can break him together.”

“You sick fuck!” Dean snarls.

Alistair slumps forward, his legs won't support him, “This time, you fuck him.” He whispers, fingers squeezing Dean’s arm. “And I’ll watch.”

The sickening crunch of Dean’s fist meeting Alistair’s nose is loud, painfully audible in the sterile room.

“Dean!” Luke shouts. “Help us with Castiel!” 

Dean hops over Alistair’s unconscious body, and rushes to Castiel’s side. “Cas-“ he cries, devastated by what he sees. Castiel looks terrible, his body riddled with bruises. Dean wants to touch him, to gauge the full extent of the damage, but that can wait. First, he wants to pick him up and get him the hell out if this place. But at the same time, he's scared to move him, afraid he might cause more pain. “Jesus…” he exhales and rubs absently at his face.

“Dean?” Castiel hasn't taken his eyes off of Dean since he hauled Alistair away, heart thrumming in his chest because his wish has come true; he got to see Dean again. Castiel smiles, it's small and unsure, and reaches for Dean’s hand. 

Dean grasps it like a lifeline, raises it to his lips, and with great tenderness, kisses it. “Cas.”

Castiel clutches at the jacket Gabriel placed over his waist – now may not be the time for modesty, but Castiel can't help but feel embarrassed.

“We're getting you outta here, okay?” Dean looks up, sees Gabriel, stony faced and morose, clutching Castiel’s other hand with the same amount desperation. “Gabe,” Dean calls, trying to get Gabriel’s attention, “help me carry Cas to my car. Then you can drive him to the hospital.” He looks over his shoulder, watches Luke say something to a now conscious Alistair, and kisses Castiel’s hand again, “I'll catch up with you later. I've got some unfinished business with Alistair.”

“No,” Luke says, firm, and final, “you’re both leaving.” He leans over Castiel, looks into his brother’s eyes and smiles, but it's sad and full of regret. “I'm sorry Cassie. This was all my fault. If I had just listened to you-“

Castiel shakes his head, “Brother, what that monster has done, is not your fault. We all know the truth now.” Castiel’s voice dips deeper, cracks with emotion. “We can finally clear Michael’s name, proclaim him the hero that he has was.”

Luke’s smile grows, this time it reaches his eyes. “Of course.” He nods, presses a kiss to Castiel’s forehead, then turns to Dean, “Get going, I'll see you all shortly.”

But Dean grabs Luke by the arm, “Wait a minute! That asshole killed my mother, you're brother, we gotta call the cops. We have to make sure he's-“

“Don't worry,” Luke says, placing his hand over Dean’s, a reassuring weight, “I'll take care of this. I swear to you, Alistair will pay for his crimes.” The promise is deadly serious, thoroughly terrifying, raises the small hairs in the back of Dan’s neck. 

“Please, Dean, take care of my brother.” 

…

The air is thick, toxic with hate. Luke’s disgust permeates everything, from the man strapped to the table, to his own pathetic lack of foresight and utter acquiescence of the facts. How could he have been so stupid? 

But he means to remedy that, to correct his mistakes and make amends to his family. And he means to start, right now. 

Alistair’s screams cut through the miasma, his agony, like music to Luke’s ears.

“Fine, okay, okay!” Wheezes Alistair, tears falling freely from his eyes. “You've made your point. I'll never touch your precious little Castiel again.”

Luke peels off another fingernail, smiles while he's doing it. 

“Please-“ Alistair begs, but the words get stuck in his throat, he gasps, chokes on air (or from the lack of it), hiccups, “Please...stop.” 

“I know,” Luke replies, demeanor pleasant, friendly even, “tearing off nails is so... cliché. But you can't deny its effectiveness.” He picks another finger, grips the ragged edge of a dirty fingernail with a pair of pristine pliers, and grins, “The classics always are.” 

Luke is methodical, single minded, and quite efficient. He peels off the remaining nails without pause, using a sledge hammer to break Alistair’s wrists when the older man’s trembling becomes a hindrance to his work. He even considers starting on Alistair’s feet, but wrinkles his nose in distaste, and decides against it.

When Alistair’s hands are free of nails – only a mangled mess of weeping meat at the end of broken fingers – Luke announces, “There! Now that's what I call ‘artistry’!” He smiles at his own cleverness then looks up to gauge Alistair’s reaction. “Don't tell anyone,” he confides, moving closer to admire his handwork, “but I can honestly understand why you choose pursue this type of…entertainment. 

“Aw, come on!” He tuts, wagging his finger when Alistair grimaces, “Even you have to admit that my work is a thing of beauty!” He gestures to Alistair’s bloody hands, to his mutilated fingers, grins, “Right?

“Granted, I didn’t pursue the more delicate bits in your pants. Even though I should, especially after what you tried to do to my brother.” He picks up a scalpel. “Cut your dick off and stuff it down your throat, make you choke on it.” Then Luke laughs, impales the blade into Alistair’s thigh, and leaves it there. 

Alistair jerks in his restraints, mumbles a litany of curses, pleas, begs to be released. “You-“ Alistair coughs, spits out blood, warns, “you should be more careful. What will th…they say when I g..go ba…back to work?” He's stuttering uncontrollably, his body, wracked with shivers, he's in shock and bleeding out; he'll be unconscious soon.

“Who says you're going back to work?”

Anger revitalizes Alistair, gives him the energy to sneer at his murderer, “You can't fire me! We had a deal!” He's livid and pulls at his restraints, his pain is forgotten, and he stupidly threatens Luke. “What will your constituents think of their beloved leader, when I leak all of your dirty little deals, Mayor Milton?”

Luke doesn't reply, taps his chin as if in deep thought, instead. 

“You even gave me the key to the city!” Alistair prattles on, then his eyes go wide, gasps, “No, you wouldn't.” 

“Huh?” Luke, asks, distracted by Alistair’s toys. 

“Just so you know, if you're dumb enough to notify the authorities about me, then be ready to join me in the adjacent cell!” Alistair's voice gets louder, but Luke tunes him out, walks away to examine the contents of a wall covered in surgical instruments. He looks back at Alistair, smirks, throws him a mischievous wink, and plucks a tool from the vast and varied selection. 

“Milton, you’re not putting me in jail!” 

Luke chuckles, soft and lighthearted, “Who said you were going to jail?” Then clamps Alistair’s dick in a pair of stainless steel forceps. 

Alistair screams, his vocal cords tear, he cries, “Luke, please, for the love of God, have mercy.” 

Luke just twists the instrument, crushes Alistair’s dick, fascinated by the shade of purple Alistair’s neck seems to be turning.

Alistair spits up more blood, he’s bleeding internally, grits his teeth, “You owe me.” He says, words thick, a gurgle of syllables rolling in blood. “I covered for Michael. He let that woman die because of…because of his negligence.

“Castiel would be dead if it wasn't for me! Those…those children, too! You owe me, Milton! You owe me!”

“Christ all mighty!” Meg appears at the top of the stairs, adding the heavy clunking of her boots to the din. “What the hell is all that racket?” 

“Sweetheart,” Luke calls, eyes following his lover’s every movement – but his hand doesn't stray from Alistair’s groin, it stays steady, grip sure on the clamps. “I asked you to bring the little one!” He exhales, makes a big show of losing his patience, but Meg only smirks in return. 

“I really didn't want you lugging that heavy thing all by yourself.”

Meg rolls her eyes, lifts the chainsaw, one-handed, says, “Baby, the small one is outta juice.”

“Come here, you.” Luke finally lets go of Alistair, let's the clamps clatter noisily onto the floor, takes the chainsaw from Meg, lays it down carefully, then pulls her into his arms. He kisses her, presses her to his chest, “Glad you could make it.” 

“Meh,” she shrugs, wraps her arms around his neck and clings, “I had nothing better to do.”

They share a look, a smile, then nod to each other, and get right to work. 

Alistair laughs, a wet gurgle, says "I'll see you both in-“ but the rest is drowned out by the roar of the chainsaw.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean has to forgive him. Castiel wrings his hands, then winces, every inch of him hurts, but the pain he'd suffer if he were to lose Dean’s friendship, would surpass all of his hurts. A loss like that would break him just as surely as if he were still strapped to that damn rack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nearing the end! Whew. Just a bit more to go, a few more choice scenes to explore...
> 
>  
> 
> Again, apologies for typos and shtty grammar

“He's lucky to be alive. The damage is extensive, but superficial. No internal injuries-“

“Will he be okay? When can I go see him?” Dean bounces in place, relieved that Castiel isn't seriously hurt, but desperate to check for himself.

The doctor eyes him coolly, huffs at the interruption. “Excuse me?” She says, no trace of warmth in her tone, “I’m afraid I can only share that information with Mr. Milton’s immediate family-“

“Cut the crap Kali.” Gabriel walks up to Dean, lays a reassuring hand on his shoulder, tells her, “Dean is part of the family. Answer his damn question, already.”

Kali’s jaw snaps shut, Gabriel has never spoken to her in this manner: demanding, authoritative, unafraid. But she’ll forgive him this once, she knows he's upset about Castiel. 

She turns her gaze back on Dean, sees hope in his eyes, there's grief there as well, along with a sincere interest in her brother-in- law, and just like that, Kali’s haughty demeanor melts, melds and merges with Dean’s genuine concern.

A small smile spreads across her pretty face; she's beautiful, in fact, a nurturing and generous woman, the person with whom Gabriel fell in love. “Come with me.” Kali says, then turns on her heel and escorts them both to Castiel’s room.

…

Castiel shifts then hisses, tries to rearrange his pillows, but the motion pulls at his stitches, and it hurts, although not as much as it would if he weren't currently pumped full of pain-killers, but he's still achey. 

His head, on the other hand, feels calm, surprisingly so, (thank you narcotics) despite the ordeal he just went through. 

_Fucking Alistair_

Castiel had suspected Alistair’s involvement in Michael’s death for years now, and thanks to that maniac’s overblown ego, they all know the truth. Michael’s reputation will be restored. He will no longer be remembered as negligent or careless, a man that would put aside years of training, and sacrifice a life he was assigned to protect, in order to save one that shouldn't have been there in the first place. 

No, Michael will once again be known as the ‘best-of-the-best’, their squad’s one and true champion, and Castiel’s dearly missed brother. 

Castiel just hopes Dean sees it that way, and forgives them. Michael was faultless, single-minded, and a professional. While Castiel was just a boy back then, barely a teen, a stupid pawn in Alistair’s scheme, but still culpable. 

_Dean_

Dean has to forgive him. Castiel wrings his hands, then winces, every inch of him hurts, but the pain he'd suffer if he were to lose Dean’s friendship, would surpass all of his hurts. A loss like that would break him just as surely as if he were still strapped to that damn rack.

_Oh, Dean_

Castiel marvels at the effect Dean has had on him. In the span of just a few days he's become invaluable to Castiel, like the beat of his heart or the anchoring of his soul. Castiel misses him so badly, he can almost taste it. He yearns to see Dean so desperately, that it physically hurts. 

This is the real torture, this is the real pain, because every single touch and every single mark Dean made, feels like a brand, permanently burned and mercilessly seared into Castiel’s flesh. 

Castiel sighs, lovelorn and heartsick, but he lets his limbs relax and closes his eyes. He thinks of Dean, recalls their shared kisses, their mutual passion, and sighs again. He sinks deeper into his pillows and let's his mind wander freely, lets himself luxuriate in thoughts of Dean. 

Of course, what he should be doing is concentrating on Alistair, planning the necessary steps needed to guarantee that he pay for his crimes and that they all get justice. But Castiel finds it hard to focus; his thoughts keep drifting back to the pier, and to Dean. 

Castiel puts his hand over his heart and feels the jack-rabbit beat under his palm. He's so in love with Dean, there's no denying it. So he won't. Not anymore. He wants to tell Dean. Has to tell him. But how? He's a mess (body covered in cuts) and once he heals, his body will be a maze of scars.

Castiel is not a vain man, but even he's not foolish enough to think Dean’s attraction to him was based solely on his personality.

Castiel laughs, no, it definitely wasn't his personality. He's been told by too many people on too many occasions that he can be…off putting. So yeah…

 _Thanks, again, Alistair_

If it weren't for that monster, Castiel’s looks wouldn't be an issue. But as it is –with eighty percent of his body bandaged, stitched or coated in ointment -- Castiel’s only selling point, sadly enough, is his shitty personality.

_Damnit!_

He slams his fist and feels nothing. Well, at least he's no longer in pain.

…

Dean is so anxious to see Castiel, he has to stop himself from plowing right past Kali, and running to Castiel’s room. And he would do it too, but 1., he doesn't know where Castiel’s room is. And 2., Kali is friggin scary.

Thankfully, it's not long before they're rounding (according to Dean’s count) their fifth corner, and find themselves standing outside Castiel’s door. 

Dean steps around Kali, but she stops him. “He's heavily sedated.” She warns, but not unkindly. “He might actually fall asleep while you're talking to him.” She smiles, “He may not make any sense, but I'm sure he'll make an effort. Try not to tire him out too much.” She then knocks on Castiel’s door, and gestures for Dean to lead the way.

Dean gladly walks in first, then freezes when he spots Castiel. He bites back a cry, swallows down his anger, curls his hands into fists and wishes it was Alistair’s neck he was squeezing. “Cas…” He whispers, soft and low, he doesn't want to startle the other man.

But Castiel hears him, his eyes flutter open and he turns to face his visitors. “Hello Dean.” He says, voice barely audible, a raspy croak from hours of screaming. He tenses but lifts his hand, hopes Dean will take it, but nevertheless holds his breath, afraid Dean might not.

But Dean rushes to Castiel’s side, and Castiel exhales, his shoulders lose their rigidity and his features soften, he smiles, but tries not to feel too disappointed that he didn't get a kiss as well.

Dean smiles back then leans in, says, “Hi Cas.” And presses a kiss to the corner of Castiel's lips, the side that's not split, purple, and swollen.

Emboldened (and maybe more than a little bit high) Castiel turns his head and kisses Dean back. He wants a full mouth kiss and takes it, puts his hand behind Dean’s neck and pulls him closer. 

“Hey-“ Dean pants, short of breath, his heart’s beating so fast. “I missed you too.” He tries to straighten, but Castiel doesn't let go, if anything, his grip gets firmer, his eyes wider, there's real terror there, and Dean dies a little inside. “Hey…hey, I'm right here, okay.” Dean covers Castiel's mouth with another kiss, swallows Castiel’s whimpers, inhales his grief. 

“Sweetheart,’ he exhales, breathing courage into Castiel, “I'm not going anywhere, I promise. No one is ever gonna hurt you again. I swear it.”

But Castiel pushes Dean away, flaps his hands in a shooing motion, slurs, “No, Dean, no.” He sniffles, makes grabby-hands, says, “You’re so special, Dean. So, sooo, perfect.” 

Dean takes his place next to Castiel again and has to fight the influx of emotions racing through his system, emotions that urge him to grip and to grab, to hold onto his beloved as tightly as he can, and to never let him go. 

“N’gh, Dean, no, wait, y-, you should go.” Castiel shoves him off again, mumbling protests the entire time, an unintelligible tangle of words. “Y,you, Dean, you deserve better.” Then wails, “I'm so sorry, Dean!”

Gabriel and Kali watch Castiel fall apart from the safety of the door, simultaneously cringing, snickering, and clinging to each other for comfort. They exchange several looks, but when Castiel breaks into song – sloppily sings and weeps a tune praising Dean’s many attributes – Gabriel’s seen enough. 

“Jesus, Kali.” He turns to his wife, whispers, “what the hell did you put in his I-V drip? Vodka?” 

...

“Hey there, sleepy head.”

“G'off-“

“No can do. It's time to wakey-wakey.”

Castiel cracks an eye open, scowls at his brother, then promptly falls back to sleep. 

“Fine!” Gabriel huffs, not really offended. “Just wanted to tell you I'll be back in a little bit. Gonna go and make sure Meg and Hannah don't kill each other while we're gone.” 

He waits for a reaction, gets none, shrugs, continues, “Might even have to put a stop to the kiddies staging an uprising. You know, ‘cuz you're not there.” 

Still nothing.

But then he looks down, sees Dean’s sleeping form and feels better, confident that he's leaving his brother is safe hands.

…

 

"Where’s Castiel?” Hannah pounces on Gabriel the second he arrives. She jogs up to his car, doesn't even wait until he shuts off the engine before she's badgering him for information. “You did find him, right?” She’s winded, concern for Castiel bypassing her earlier hurt – when Castiel left her for Meg, it cut her to the quick. But nevertheless, Hanna has never stopped caring about him. “I’ve been,” she pauses, backtracks, “that is, we have all been terribly worried.” Shes’s heard terrible rumors about what’s happened to Castiel (all from Meg) but she refuses to panic. 

Gabriel gets out and closes his door, ignores Hanna’s impatient toe tapping and scans for Meg and Luke, instead. 

“Where the hell are you?” He mutters, eyes doing a thorough sweep of the immediate area. He's been dialing his brother ever since leaving the hospital, and is more than a little surprised that Luke hadn't made it over there yet. But Gabriel figures that if Luke is late, it’s because he's had his hands full with Alistair – it takes time to properly dispose of a body. 

Oh yes, Gabriel has no allusions as to Alistair fate, he knows exactly what's befallen him and what he's suffered; Luke's wrath. He knows there are no limits to how far his brother will go when seeking revenge. Gabriel shivers, grateful he's never gotten on Luke’s bad side. 

“Damn it. Where the hell are you?” Gabriel had hoped Luke and Meg would be here by now. He needs their help, needs them to come up with a plausible explanation for Alistair’s absence, and spare him the trouble of making it up all on his own. 

“Hannah, you see Meg anywhere?”

Hanna’s foot freezes mid-tap, she crosses her arms, and takes a step back, assesses Gabriel. “So you're not talking either?” 

“Either?” Gabriel jumps at her reply. Meg is here. Which means, that Luke can't be too far away. “Where'd you see her?” Gabriel doesn't miss the way Hanna’s face falls, but he's too relieved to worry over her hurt feelings. He likes her well enough – her massive crush on Castiel holds a certain kind of charm, tragic though it may be. But right now, finding Meg and Luke, then getting their heads together and their stories straight, takes precedence. 

“Well?” He insists, growing impatient, but then he takes in her wounded eyes, and stiff upper lip, sees her sag at his indifference, and offers her what he can. “Look, Hanna,” he puts a comforting hand on her shoulder, squeezes, says, “Cassie is fine, okay. He just had a, ah…bad reaction to, um, shellfish.” He cringes at the lameness of his excuse – this is why he didn't want to say anything. 

“You don't need to worry about him.” Then he spots Meg. “We’ll talk later, okay?” He pats Hannah soundly on the back, then goes after Meg, running after her before she disappears again. 

…

The next time Castiel wakes, it's to the soft snores coming from his bedmate. 

_Bedmate?_

Castiel’s eyes fly open and they immediately zero in on the source of that sound. It's Dean and Castiel breaks into a wide grin, hissing when it pulls painfully on his split lip.

The shift wakes Dean, and he lifts his head, immediately missing the soothing rhythm of Castiel’s heartbeat against his ear. But it's a small loss when compared to the joy he gets from looking into Castiel’s beautiful, blue, eyes.

He sits up asks, “Cas, you okay?” Then smacks himself on the forehead. “Sorry, stupid question.” 

"Dean-“ Castiel winces again, eyes scrunched in pain, he coughs, his throat feels so dry, it's sore and on fire, hurts like a motherfucker. “Water-“ he croaks.

Dean scrambles to his feet, grabs the plastic cup from Castiel’s nightstand, and fills it with water. “Here you go.”

Castiel drinks the water greedily, actually chokes before Dean has the foresight to intervene. “Whoa, babe, take it easy. Slow sips.” 

Dean takes the cup back, wipes errant drops from Castiel’s lips, and asks, “Better?”

Castiel gives the cool water a few seconds to take effect, then nods, “Thank you, Dean.” His voice is a bit huskier than usual, but it only adds to Castiel’s off-the-charts-sex-appeal; despite all the damage done, Castiel is still the most beautiful thing Dean has ever seen. 

Dean sets the cup aside and sits back down. He takes a good look at Castiel, sees the full extent of the damage Alistair inflicted upon him, and his blood simmers. He does a mental count of all the bruises, bandages, and stitches that criss-cross, as well as overlap, all over Castiel’s body (only the ones he can see, of course). He’s frowning by the time he's finished.

“Are…is everything…”

Dean’s eyes snap back to Castiel, sees the tension in his face, the worry in his eyes, says, “Sorry, babe, just…” He shakes his head, takes one last look and scowls; there's no need for words. 

“I, I know, Dean. I'm sorry.” Castiel drops his eyes, and sighs, “I must look a fright. You don't have to stay. And besides, y-you must be tired. You should go-“

Dean silences Castiel the best way he knows how, with his lips. The kiss is gentle, but it does the trick. “I told you before,” he says softly, brushing the words across Castiel’s mouth, “I'm not going anywhere.”

Castiel opens his mouth to protest, and Dean kisses him again, only pulling away when he feels Castiel’s pucker spread into a smile. “Thank you.”

Dean takes his seat again, but keeps their fingers linked, snorts, “The hell you thanking me for?” 

Castiel’s eyes bug out, what a ridiculous question. “For everything! For saving me, for staying here, for…not hating me.”

“Cas,” it's Dean’s turn to be stunned, “if anything, I should be begging you for forgiveness.” 

Castiel shakes his head, no, Dean’s got this all wrong. 

But Dean beats his fist hard against his chest, argues, “If it weren't for me, that sick fuck wouldn't have taken you!” He fights back tears, struggles to control his voice, “If it weren't for me, he wouldn't have hurt you!” 

“Dean, please, that's not-“

“I should have made you get into my car, Cas! I should never have left you alone!” Dean’s guilt is eating away at him, he needs Castiel to know how very sorry he is, how much he regrets his role in Castiel’s capture and subsequent torture. “Cas, I...should have accepted his invitation.”

Castiel’s blood runs cold and he recoils, as if slapped. “Never!” He roars, how could Dean suggest such a thing. 

“I know, I know.” Dean holds his hands up, implores, “Not because I wanted to, Cas. Obviously. But, but if I had, if I had gone out with him, at least once, then I would have known immediately where to find you.” 

Dean worries his bottom lip, this really is all his fault. He rubs Castiel’s clenched fists with his thumbs, scared Castiel is finally going to agree and ask him to leave. 

“I would have found you sooner,” he laments, “…and then Alistair wouldn't have had so much time to…to hurt you.”

Castiel glowers at Dean, brow deeply furrowed, lips a tight white line; he has to take several deep breaths before he feels calm enough to reply. “Dean, I would rather spend an eternity being tortured by that…that filth, than have you experience his ‘brand of fun’, even for a second.” 

Dean’s eyes grow large, he gulps, feels like his heart is stuck in his throat. “You can't mean that-“

Castiel reverses the way they're holding hands, warms Dean’s chilled fingers between his palms, confides, “I do. And knowing what I know now, had Alistair managed to lure you into his trap, if he had so much as touched you..." Castiel has to take several more breaths, his chest is heaving, the thought of Dean going through what he just did, overwhelms him, it's too much to bear, and Alistair would have not survived. “I would have killed him.” 

They're silent for a few minutes, each going over what the other has confessed, acknowledging the lengths they would each go for the other: Dean would sacrifice himself, Castiel, would kill. 

 

“Guess, um, Alistair got lucky then, huh? That I, ah, that I never said yes to him. He'd a been in a world of hurt if I did.”

Castiel couldn't agree more and he nods. “Although, I think it's fair to say that he's no better off in Luke’s hands, than he'd be in mine.” Castiel notes Dean’s furrowed brow, clarifies, “My brother Luke and I tend to deal with our issues, with the same amount of…intensity.” Castiel grins, small, but undeniably self-satisfied. “I don't think Alistair would consider himself ‘lucky’ right now.”

Dean nods, wondering if Castiel means what he thinks he means, but shrugs the thought away; he's done thinking about Alistair, at least for the time being.

It only takes a minute more for the tension to dissipate, both secretly satisfied with the other’s passionate confessions and violent reactions had their roles been reversed. But the tension is replaced with an odd awkwardness, one through which neither is eager to navigate. But it jars something in Dean’s memory, something his mother used to tell him, the same thing Alistair brought up. 

“You know,” he says, offering a way out of an awkward silence, “my mom use to tell me that angels were watching out for me.” He laughs softly at the memory, but it's no longer melancholic, it's fond. “So for the longest time I thought that the person who saved me, the one that plucked my sorry ass out of the water, was an angel.” he holds Castiel’s gaze, stresses. “That you, Cas, that you were an angel. A fierce warrior that came down from heaven and rescued me.”

Castiel snorts, not at Dean, but at the idea that he was ever a ‘savior’. “More like’ cast out of heaven’.” He corrects. “I'm hardly an angel, Dean. You on the other hand, you're the good one.” Castiel sighs as he recalls that fateful night, reminisces, “You were so brave. You weren't worried about yourself at all. You only cared about you're brother, about your family.” 

Castiel drops his eyes, he's still guilt-ridden over Mary’s death, still hopelessly ashamed with his role that night. “I just happened to be there. Not because I was supposed to be. I made Michael take me. So if anything, I got in his way. And because of me your mother-“

Dean shakes his head, “N’ah, don't even, okay.” Dean doesn't buy Castiel’s point of view at all. Castiel is the good guy here, and it burns Dean that he doesn't see it that way. 

“My mom died because of that asshole. Okay. Remember? Your brother, Michael, it wasn't his fault either.” Dean places a finger under Castiel’s jaw and lifts his head, forcing him to make eye contact. “You saved me and Sammy. Nobody else did that. And that's not nothing, Cas, that's…everything.” 

Castiel smiles, eternally grateful to Dean, says in a hushed voice, “Thank you, Dean.” And squeezes his hand. But his head feels especially heavy (must be the drugs) and he tries to sit up straight. But that just makes the room spin, and he giggles. “Sorry, little dizzy.” Then he flops heavily against Dean’s chest. “Mmm, much better.”

“Geesh, Cas. ‘Course you’re dizzy.” Dean can imagine the cocktail of narcotics the doctor prescribed to curb Castiel’s pain, and tsks. “Lay down, okay.” 

But Castiel wraps his fingers in Dean’s shirt and clings. "Dean, you're so good to me.” He says, the words mumbled into the crook of Dean’s neck. “I don't deserve you.”

Dean shakes his head, Castiel is the one who deserves better, and Dean’s willing to argue about it until Castiel sees himself the way Dean does, like an angel. 

Which is why Dean decides to finally speak up and confess everything: unattractive truths about himself that Castiel has every right to know. “Cas,” he starts, rushing what he needs to admit before he loses his nerve. “Cas, I wanna apologize-“ 

Castiel sighs and shushes Dean, reaches out to caresses his cheek; the painkillers have kicked in nicely and he's feeling brave. “Dean, we've been through this already.” He leans over, carefully, painstakingly slow, afraid to test the strength of his stitches. But he doesn't get far, only an inch or two, and then Dean’s on him. 

Dean rushes to Castiel’s side when he sees what he intends to do, and their lips meet. “Come on, sweetheart,” he says sweetly, lovingly, “lay back down. Don't want you to hurt yourself.”

Castiel pouts, protests, bossy and demanding, “Then stop sitting so far away.” He flings his sheet aside and pats the space beside him.

Dean climbs right in, settles gently next to Castiel, then resumes what he was saying.

“Cas, look, I really want to tell you something, okay?” But instead of starting right off, Dean stalls. He fluffs Castiel’s pillows, gives him some more water, makes sure that he's comfortable, all along using the lull in conversation to gather his thoughts 

Castiel is unaware of Dean’s inner turmoil and happily complies. “Mmm.” He hums, basking in Dean’s pampering, enjoying the pleasant high he's currently riding, then snuggling up to Dean’s chest and touching every bit of his lover that he can reach.

Dean readjusts himself, wraps his arm around Castiel, kisses his temple, and finally starts, “Cas, all of these years I've blamed Michael for my mom’s death. And for that, I'm sorry.” 

He feels Castiel stiffen, gives him a chance to reply, but when Castiel relaxes after only a few seconds, Dean takes it as a sign to continue. 

“I even planned to hunt down his relatives.” Dean pauses again, waits for the inevitable shove, counts to three, then admits the unthinkable. “I wanted to give you all a taste of the pain my family went through. I wanted you all to...suffer.” 

It's a shocking revelation and Castiel gasps, he pulls away a little, a scant inch, but the distance feels miles wide to Dean.

“I know Cas, I'm so sorry. I hate myself for it.” Dean scoots further away, gives Castiel his space. It's the least he can do. “I didn't have an exact plan, I was just a kid, and I just let my imagination get, well, imaginative.” 

Dean wrings his hands, drops his eyes, exhales, a long weary sigh, “I never actually looked for any of you. Not really. Thought about you all the time, though. About how lucky you all were to have a mom, how happy you must have been. And how great to have a dad that was, well…” Dean's words taper off, but Castiel doesn't think he’s done.

“Of course, I ditched that stupid plan years ago, realized that's not the kind of man my mom would want me to be.” Dean dares look up, relieved when Castiel holds his gaze. What he's about to confess is huge, extremely important to Dean, and vital that Castiel know. 

“She was great, Cas. You would have liked her.” Dean inches his hand closer to Castiel’s, lays it open, palm up, then breaks into a wide smile when Castiel immediately covers it with his own hand. 

“I loved her so much, Cas-“ Dean stops, blinks, realizes his mistake, “Love, I mean. I love her, of course. It just, it just doesn't hurt as much now as it use to. Not since,” Dean pauses, searches for the right words, “well, nothing hurts as much anymore. Not since I met you.”

Castiel takes both of Dean’s hands and cradles them between his own, but he doesn’t interrupt, he remains silent, gives Dean all if the time he needs to unburden himself. 

Dean’s grateful, he doesn't think he could start up again if he were to stop now. “Cas, I wish you coulda met her. She would have liked you.” Dean smiles even wider, amends, “N’ah, she would have loved you. I know she would’ve. How could she not?” Dean turns his body, knocks knees with Castiel. “From the moment I met you,” he says mouth agape, eyes wide, unabashedly in awe, utterly in love, “I knew you were special.”

Castiel blushes, thinks his heart might burst with love for this wonderful man before him. He smiles, braces himself, because he needs to do something, an action that will express to Dean just how light his heart feels right now, like he's sprouted wings and can fly. He needs Dean to know that the elation he feels, has nothing to do with the drugs coursing through his veins. “Dean, I lo-“

But Dean cuts Castiel off and plows on. “God, Cas, you were, are so... perfect, so good. Like a real hero.” 

Okay, this has gone on long enough. 

Castiel won't be silent anymore. He opens his mouth to protest, he's flattered, but Dean’s wrong, he's far from perfect. And as far Castiel is concerned, it's Dean that saved him, and not just from Alistair’s pit, but from his wretched loneliness, as well. Castiel was lost for so long, adrift in a sea of misery, a self-inflicted exile, alone and bitter, until Dean came along and rescued him. “Dean, thank you, but-“

“But nothing.” Dean counters, vehement in his high opinion of Castiel. “You're awesome, always have been. And then, afterwards, when I realized how wrong I've been all of these years,” Dean pulls back slightly, but Castiel holds on, he'll never let Dean go, “man, I just felt like, like a real piece of shit.” 

“Dean-“

But Dean doesn’t hear Castiel, he's too bogged down with guilt and shame to hear anything but roaring in his head. 

“It just hurt so bad, Cas. Losing my mom. I remember her, you know? Remember that night like it was yesterday. It, it was…awful. And it hurt so bad. And it hurt for so long. But the worst is that I wanted you to hurt, too. All of you.” Dean inhales, exhales, chest heaving with emotion, “I'm no better than Alistair.

Castiel disagrees.

He rounds on Dean – aches and pains long forgotten – and lunges, grabs Dean by the back of the neck and pulls him in for a kiss. 

Seconds later, and several deep breaths taken, Castiel warns, “Don’t ever say that.” He pulls at the short hairs on the back of Dean’s neck, growls, “Don't even think it.” And kisses him again. 

"But-"

“No, buts!”

“Cas-“ Dean tries to get Castiel to listen, tries to gently push him off, but Castiel won't have any of it and wrestles back.

“Not another word.” Castiel’s gown flys open, but that doesn't stop him; even in his current condition Castiel easily overpowers Dean. 

Dean does puts up a fight, half-hearted though it may be, and tries to calm Castiel down. “Cas…stop. You'll hurt yourself.” 

Castiel ignores Dean’s warning, pins him down, and takes control, kissing him again, open-mouth and filthy. 

They make out for a long while, hands roaming freely, bodies grinding with intent, Dean murmurs pleas, but Castiel swallows his protests and guilt, only relenting when Dean stops struggling. 

“Dean, listen to me.” Castiel eases his hold, but stays where he is, perched on Dean’s lap. 

The angle affords Dean the opportunity to appreciate the level of Castiel’s arousal; the hard outline of his cock, a prominent and tempting sight through the thin fabric of his hospital gown, leaves nothing to the imagination. If anything, it ratchets Dean’s own desire, tenfold. 

Castiel follows Dean’s line-of-sight and grins. He drops his hand to rub at himself through his gown, then uses the same hand to caresses Dean’s cheek, to tease at his lips. 

Dean responds with gusto, pivots his neck and captures Castiel’s finger, sucks on it contentedly while Castiel speaks.

“I need you to understand,” Castiel starts, panting, winded, but not because he’s in pain, “that you are a wonderful person.” He straddles Dean, drops his other hand to his own lap and starts stroking himself.

“You're the best man I know.” He says, swiveling his pelvis, then bending at the waist to mouth at Dean’s jaw. “Had it been me,” he whispers, “I would have done…worse.”

Dean’s dick jumps and he rocks his hips, this shouldn't be so hot, and he definitely shouldn't be so turned on, but Castiel’s vehemence is undeniably arousing. “Cas-“ He turns his head, needs to see Castiel’s face, needs to look into his eyes, and when he does, Dean sees nothing but conviction staring right back. 

Castiel sits back up, says, “I mean every word, Dean.” And pushes his gown out of the way, exposing himself. He's fully erect, a feast for the eyes, and Dean’s mouth waters.

“Cas…” Dean means to warn Castiel, put at stop to this, explain that someone might come in and catch them, but he doesn't. Dean grabs Castiel by the hips and pushes up instead, grinding his erection against Castiel’s perfect ass.

Castiel gasps, takes himself in hand, and urges Dean down. He works Dean’s jeans open, belt, snap, and zipper, and frees Dean’s dick, strokes it, lines it up against his own, and rocks.

Dean arches his back and grunts, tries to sit up, wants to wrap Castiel in his arms and rut until they both reach completion. 

But Castiel doesn't let him, he places a hand on Dean’s chest and holds him down, bends, stretches himself out, and lays directly on top of Dean. 

Both men gasp the moment their groins align, a sharp intake of breath when their erections rub against one another.

“Oh, Dean,” Castiel circles his hips, and Dean spreads his legs – bodies touching from chest to thigh. There's no pain, only heat and desire, it makes their cocks harder, and both men, reckless. 

“If our roles were reversed,” Castiel confides, whispering the words against Dean’s cheek, wrapping his fingers around their dicks and trapping them between their bodies, “if it were me that had lost a loved one,” he grits out, increasing their pleasure and hastening their climax when he starts thrusting, “my vengeance would have been…great.”

Dean whimpers, he can't believe how turned on he is. He exhales a breathy, “Fuck-“ because they shouldn't be doing this. It's extremely irresponsible, not to mention careless, but with six feet of solid muscle humping him, Dean can't find it in himself to care. 

“Baby-“ he pants, bucking his hips, urging Castiel to pick up the pace; he's seconds from cumming.

But Castiel pulls away, just a little, braces himself on his elbows, and brackets Dean’s face between his hands. His expression is serious, edged with wrath; a fierce warrior mercilessly taking down his advisory. He gazes deeply into Dean’s eyes, hips steadily thrusting, and promises, “I would have found you, Dean. I would have seen you,” thrust, “I would have wanted to hurt you,” thrust, “I would have... wanted you.” 

Castiel throws his head back and groans, his pleasure is cresting and his rhythm falters, “but I know, I know that as soon we'd meet,” he’s out of breath, locks eyes with Dean again, “that I'd see the type of man that you are. See that you're the type of man that I…that I could love. That I do love.” 

Castiel quickens his pace, grits his teeth, swears, “Dean, I would I…I would have forgiven you, anything.” 

Dean screws his eyes shut, he can't believe what he just heard. Castiel loves him? Castiel forgives him? He can't possibly mean it. It's the drugs talking, he's feverish, doesn't know what he's saying, he's not in his right mind. 

But then Castiel says those words again, and again, exhales his feelings right into Dean’s mouth, against his throat, across his cheek, repeats his devotion until Dean believes him and says it back. 

Dean rears up; he needs Castiel's mouth on his, now. Their teeth clack from the impact, but neither cares, their aggression fuels their passion, and they seal it with a kiss. 

Dean claims Castiel’s tongue, his vows, the very air from his lungs, and swears, “Me too, Cas. Love you so much, baby. So much-“ 

Then Castiel’s rhythm stutters and he cries out, cumming in rapid spurts that coat Dean’s dick with a warm layer of his semen.

Dean follows right after, there’s no way he can hold back after that. "Yeah-" he croaks, adding a thick layer of his own release to the sticky mess Castiel has made.

They're panting, tacky with sweat. Castiel is thoroughly spent, a dead weight on top of Dean, and Dean basks in the intimacy if it all, falling even deeper for Castiel.

…

A few minutes have passed and Dean’s willing to bet they've pushed their luck. “Cas, baby,” he's pretty sure someone is bound to come check on Castiel any second now. So he jostles Castiel, gently by the shoulders, but gets an irritated growl for his efforts. “We gotta move.” He explains, simultaneously maneuvering Castiel off, while caressing his back. 

Castiel grunts, complains, “Don’t want to…comfy.”

Dean laughs, soft and low, and does the next best thing: he tucks his dick away, straightens Castiel’s gown, and somehow manages to wrangle a sheet from the bed and drapes over their bodies. 

Dean can't believe he's here, in bed, with the person of his dreams. He can't believe Castiel has forgiven him, let alone that he actually wants Dean back. It’s ludicrous, Castiel can have anyone. But Dean grins, big and goofy, and let's himself believe. “Rest then.” He says softly, pressing the words gently against Castiel’s warm temple. Dean frowns, hopes it’s not a fever, and just like that, loses the urge to sleep. He’ll watch over Castiel and make sure he doesn't get any worse. 

It's the least he could do.

...

“Mr. Milton!”

Castiel startles and rolls off of Dean. “Damn it.” He hisses, gingerly tracing the outline of a particularly angry grid of stitches that have popped.

“What is, I mean, you shouldn't be…Mr. Milton, you need to be more careful.” The harried nurse rushes to inspect Castiel, spots the bleeding, and cries out, “Your stitches!” 

“It's my fault!” Dean blurts, falling off the bed and scrambling to his feet. “I, we were talking, and then we fell asleep-“ .” He stops abruptly when he sees Castiel’s face, how it's contorted in pain, and the blood blooming through his bandages. “Cas, I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have-“

“Don't you dare apologize.” It's a warning, but Castiel delivers it with a smile, indulgent but impatient. “I would do it again, and again, and-“

“Yeah, we get it.” Luke appears at the doorway, brow cocked and grinning. “You'd gladly let yourself bleed, again, for Dean Winchester. Or should I say, boyfriend? Dean is your boyfriend now.” It's not a question, but Luke pauses, gives Castiel a chance to rebuttal. “Of course, it's just an observation, but considering everything I witnessed last night...” 

His words taper off, but it's unclear if he's referring to what happened in Alistair’s pit, or in Castiel’s hospital room. 

Luke steps into the room, takes in the spectacle, and smirks, turns to Dean and says, "So Dean, thank you, so very much, for keeping watch over my little brother-“ 

“Luke,” Castiel cuts his brother off, he's in no mood for Luke’s teasing. “Have you finished our business?”

Luke regards Castiel with an all-knowing smile, answers, “Finished, and I assure you, to your satisfaction.”

Dean has no idea what they're talking about, but if he were to guess, it's about Alistair, and that he's dead. 

Good-fucking-riddance.

A very annoyed cough reminds them there's still a nurse in the room. Luke acknowledges her with a nod. “My apologies, nurse…”

“Hascolm.” The nurse’s reply is curt, but friendly enough, concern for her patient overriding her good manners. “I'm sorry, but I need everybody to leave.” 

Luke chuckles, blasts her with his charm, argues, “I'm sure you don't mean me. I'm Mayor-“

“Milton, yeah I know. And I do mean you. And, you too.” She looks at Dean, and points to the door.

Castiel stiffens, says, "No-" but then Dean whispers something to him, and he relaxes. 

Dean presses a kiss to Castiel’s temple, says, “I'll be right outside. Not going anywhere.” And leaves. 

“Now you.” 

But Luke stays put, there's no way some nurse is going to-

“I said now!”

“You don't under-“

“Geesh, I'll only be a few minutes.” She ushers Luke from the room with a hand to his elbow, says, “I promise.” And closes the door behind him.

…

“That was very…erotic.”

Dean face-palms, mortified, he was so sure they hadn't been caught. “For fuck’s sake.” He takes Luke by the elbow and guides him away from the door. “Don't, okay. Just, keep it to yourself. Cas has enough shit on his plate right now. Nobody else needs to know about this.”

“Well, about that,” Luke pulls out his cell phone and shows Dean the very explicit image on the screen, laughing when Dean groans beside him. 

“Please tell me you didn't forward it to anybody else.”

“I did.” Luke says, but he at least has the decency to look sheepish. “I'm certain Gabriel will be discrete.”

Dean barks a laugh, he doubts ‘discrete’ and Gabriel have ever been aquatinted. He throws his hands up in the air and huffs, “Figures.” Mutters, “Just my luck.” He just doesn't want Castiel to be upset or embarrassed. But then he shakes his head and snorts; of course Castiel is going to be upset. He's a private person with an image to uphold and respect to maintain, his authority can't come into question because of what he does in private. 

And Castiel would be well within his rights to blame Dean. He was on massive doses of narcotics last night, definitely not in his right mind. Dean should have stopped them, but he was selfish and took advantage. “Yeah, I'm sure Gabe will be...” Dean doesn’t even bother finishing that sentence, he shakes his head again, wonders how he's going to face Castiel. 

Luke waits for Dean’s mini-meltdown to end, amused by the younger man’s overreaction over something so innocent and honest. He smirks; if it weren't for the fact that he's the Mayor, he would have proudly posted videos of his and Meg's exploits, ages ago. 

But after a minute passes, Luke tires of Dean’s self-flagellation. He clears his throat to get Dean’s attention, and motions to Castiel’s door. 

“What?”

“The nurse is done.” 

He walks back with Dean, but stops him before entering. “For what it's worth,” he says, serious and genuine, “it's no secret to anyone with eyes, that you and Castiel are deeply in love.” He shrugs. “So in the the end, what's it matter if there are a few pictures of the two of you expressing that…love?” 

“Love? Phfft.” Dean scoffs at Luke’s comment, because this isn't ‘love’, at least not for Castiel. 

But Luke just snorts, crosses his arms, bored with Dean’s pitiful attitude. “Are you done?”

“Look, Cas won't-“

“Castiel won't care. I promise. My brother is so blissfully happy with you right now, he just won't care.” 

But Dean still looks unconvinced, so Luke shoots him his most reassuring smile, and asks, “Besides, what’s the worse that can happen?”

...

One month later:

“Gabe!” Dean scans the long row of lockers and shouts his coworker’s name. “Gabe, you're a dead man!” There's giggling coming from the doorway that stops as soon as Dean turns to see who it is. “The hell you find so funny, Harvelle?”

Jo laughs even harder, tripping over herself in her haste to join Dean. “You, you're right, right! S-sorry.” She's out of breath from laughing so hard, but manages a shaky apology. 

“It's not funny.” He snaps at her, then starts tearing down the photographs that cover every single locker door lining the wall. They're all of him and Castiel, all different, and each image, more explicit than the last. “Help me take these down.”

“Aw Dean, don't be such a prude. Those pictures are really hot.” 

“I'm not being a prude, okay. I just don't want Cas’ first day back, to be stressful. He'd probably get angry, or embarrassed. Jesus,” he cries, sounding as stressed out as he imagines Castiel will be, “probably both.”

Jo considers what Dean said, and nods. Chief Milton does seem like the type to get all uppity about some nude pictures. The guy is as straight laced and serious as they come, with absolute zero sense of humor, and a perpetual stick up his ass. Although…

“Wait a second.” Jo steps in front of Dean, pokes him in the chest, argues, “If you think he's gonna be embarrassed and get all stressed out, then why’d you do the deed in a public place? Huh?”

“Ow! Quit that.” Dean grabs her finger and rubs at his chest, Jo doesn't know her own strength. “We didn't do, um, much in public.” He's lying, prays pictures of him and Castiel under the pier don't mysteriously surface, as well. “We were in Cas’ own private hospital room. Okay.”

“Did the door have a lock?”

“Well, no, I don't think so-“

“Were doctors and nurses free to go in and check on ‘Cas’, whenever?”

“Of course. But-“

“Does Chief Milton own the hospital? The room?”

“Geesh, Jo. No, all right. Obviously, no-“

“Then it's a public space.” Jo smiles smugly, she's made her point, but decides to help Dean, since he's the one that’s apparently having stress issues over the photos, and not Castiel. 

She starts on the other side of the room, peeling off the ‘offensive’ images (folding, then tucking away a particularly pornographic one in her back pocket, for her own personal use), and making a neat stack of the rest.

A few seconds later, she's laughing again. 

“What's so funny, now?”

“Just that we were all so worried when we heard about the Chief being in the hospital. We all thought…”

“What?”

“Well, that maybe Alistair had something to do with it. You know, since they really didn't get along. And then Alistair goes missing. I don't know,” she shrugs, pausing to closely examine a photo, turning it this way and that to figure out the subjects’ positions, “it just seemed so…suspicious.”

Dean nods, “Yeah, I get that.” Dean doesn't blame her, when Cas went missing, he automatically thought the same thing, too. That Alistair was to blame.

It seems everyone suspected the worse from Alistair. That’s probably why after a shockingly short investigation – where no one filed a claim, or reported him missing, not even Crowley -- the matter was dropped and Alistair quickly forgotten. Everyone just assumed that he'd simply fallen victim to the same type of malice he enjoyed inflicting on others. 

Relief to finally be rid of him, was the general consensus. 

And thanks to Luke’s quick thinking, Castiel's injuries were explained as an unfortunate ‘hit and run’. It was easy to believe, Castiel looked awful, but nevertheless, rumors spread that it was Alistair’s doing, and not some terrible accident. 

But then, after several explicit photos were leaked of Castiel and Dean ‘celebrating’ Castiel’s recovery in his hospital room, the rumors died down, and no one worried too much about him getting better, after that. 

“But then we saw those pictures,” Jo adds, “and felt, you know, relieved.” 

“Huh?”

She throws Dean a wink, waves an especially titilating image at him, and laughs when he flings a towel at her. 

“Quit that!” He warns, grabbing another towel, this one still damp, from the laundry basket. “And why the hell would pictures of me and Cas screwing around be a relief?” 

Jo smirks, goes back to what she was doing, shrugs again, “Because.” And drops the subject. 

Dean thinks about pressing her for a better answer than ‘because’, but then wisely decides against it; he really doesn't want to know. 

“Hey, why are we rushing?” Jo asks, stopping just a few feet from Dean. “I'm sure M.C. Crowley isn't going to let Chief Milton out of his sight, anytime soon.” 

Dean smirks, still only half done with his side of the room “Yeah, true. But after he checks in with Crowley, he's dropping some stuff off in his office, and then coming over here to congratulate Hannah.” 

“Oh, okay.” Satisfied, Jo goes back to work. “Was he surprised Meg turned the post down?”

If Castiel wasn’t surprised Meg turned down Alistair’s title, then he was the only one. After Alistair ‘left’ without officially resigning, it didn't take the board of directors long to offer his post to Meg Masters. She was easily the most qualified, and even though Gabriel was her senior, and also great at his job, he lacked the discipline. But she declined, explaining that she wanted to enjoy her honeymoon, before the baby came. 

That she was expecting, wasn't the biggest surprise. Accepting Mayor Milton’s proposal, and then eloping with him, definitely was. 

So the post went to Hannah, well deserved; her dedication is unparalleled. 

“Whew!” Jo huffs from behind, “Here.” She says, dumping a large stack of incriminating images into his hands. “You can add them to the ones you got from Chief Milton’s office.” 

Dean does a double take. “What?”

Jo scrunches her face, then it all clicks. “Oh my god!” She laughs. “You didn't take those down?” 

Dean falls back, collides against a locker, and groans. “Gabe is a dead man.” He takes Jo’s stack, adds it to his collection, then quickly grabs the last few pages from the last locker. He stuffs them into the nearest waste basket, and exhales, “Well, let's get over there before Cas shows up.” Then rushes to the exit, a giggling Jo behind.

But as soon as he steps out of the room, he runs right into Castiel. 

"Hello, Dean" 

“Cas, ah, you just get here?” Dean is hoping Castiel hasn't been to his office yet, notes that he is smiling, not upset or angry, so probably not. 

“Haven't been to your office yet, huh?” Yeah, he probably just got here. Dean smiles back, Castiel looks good, well rested, bruises mostly faded, a little pale, but still gorgeous. 

Castiel leans forward and steals a kiss, looks over Dean’s shoulder and smiles at Jo. “Hello, Ms. Harvelle.” 

“Chief.” She nods, then to Dean says, “So hey, I'll just go and do that, ah, errand thingy. Okay.” 

“Yeah, great.” Dean replies, jerking his head towards Castiel’s office. “Um, make sure you get every one if them.” 

Jo gives him a salute, nods to Castiel, “Great to have you back, Chief.” And leaves.

As soon as the door closes behind her, Castiel pulls Dean in for a more thorough kiss. Both men hum, both men grin, neither wants to let go first.  
Castiel’s curiosity wins.

“What errand?”

Dean doesn't reply, too busy mouthing at Castiel’s neck.

Castiel pulls back, cups Dean’s face, kisses the frown across his brow away. “What errand?” 

Dean drops his eyes, sighs, “It’s nothing really.” He looks back up, dazzled by Castiel’s eyes, how bright and blue they are, then gulps, treats himself to one more kiss, and says, “I didn't want you to find out this way. But, remember when we had sex in your hospital room?”

“Which time?” 

Dean smiles, ’cause yeah, Castiel was in the hospital for a solid week, and they fucked every night. 

“Fair enough.” He laughs, recalling the fun they had during Castiel’s convalesce. “The first time.”

Castiel nods, rests his hand on Dean’s ass and kisses him on the lips. “Of course,” he replies, “I remember it well.” 

Dean kisses him back, because how could he not? But before things get too heated, he forces himself to stop. He wants to fess up, Castiel should know about the pictures, that they exist, and are circulating. 

“Babe, you need to know that, well, that, ah, that Luke took pictures. Of us. Having sex.” Dean winces, braces himself for Castiel’s reaction.

But Castiel only tilts his head, furrows his brow, and looks at Dean as if confused. 

Dean exhales through his mouth, blurts, “And he forwarded them to Gabriel.” 

This time Castiel narrows his eyes and purses his lips, like he’s beginning to understand, but then he starts kneading Dean’s ass, and Dean knows he needs to be more blunt.

“Cas, Gabe printed them and posted them on every flat surface in the building.”

“Gabriel posted pictures.”

_Finally!_

“Yes, Cas! Dozens! Hundreds!”

Dean can feel the tension build, can see how it alters his boyfriend’s features, and waits, prepares himself for the worst. 

“Only photographs. Right?” 

“Yes. Geesh.” 

“I see.”

And here it comes, Castiel’s wrath, a fearsome sight to behold. He's going to let Dean have it, give it to him good and hard for letting him down. And Dean deserves it, welcomes it, because he plans on making it up to Castiel, no matter how long it takes, no matter what it takes, he'll do his penance, pay for his fuck up, and prove to Castiel that he's sorry, that he's willing to go that extra mile where their relationship is concerned. No matter what.

“Oh, okay.”

Dean’s jaw drops, “Okay?”

Castiel shrugs, “Yes. Why?”

Dean runs his hands through his hair, pulls at the short strands. “Maybe you didn't hear me right.” Dean takes Castiel’s face between both hands, runs the pad of his thumb lovingly across a high cheekbone, and stresses, “Gabe posted explicit photographs-“

“Yes,” Castiel replies, dropping his other hand on Dean’s ass and pulling him closer, rubbing his growing erection against Dean’s crotch. “I heard you. It's okay. Isn't it?”

“Okay?” Dean's not sure if he heard right, all the blood in his head seems to have traveled south. 

Castiel swivels his hips, whispers, “Yes, with my permission.”

Dean heard him this time, sputters, “With your, what? Did you say...p-permission?”

“Yes.” Castiel breaths the word into Dean’s gaping maw, dips his tongue inside for a taste, and smiles when Dean kisses him back. 

“Mm, but…mmCas?”

“But only for the photographs.” Castiel pulls back and they both catch their breath, they need to stop before someone walks in. But then Castiel leans in for just one more press of their lips, and clarifies, “I forbade him from reproducing the videos. Those are for our own personal enjoyment.” 

“There’s a video, too?” This is bigger than Dean imagined. “And you knew all along?”

“Of course.” Castiel replies, matter of fact, like sexy pictures of him fucking his partner is an everyday occurrence. Then he smiles, adds, “I edited them.” He's proud of the fact too, smug even. “My brother has a terrible eye for composition.”

Dean can't believe how well Castiel is taking this. “So you're not...upset?”

“Why would I be?”

“Because...” Dean pauses, searches his mind for the best, and least, offensive way to explain, “... you're the Chief, our boss-“

“Hannah is your boss.”

“Yeah, well, technically you're her boss.”

“And Crowley is mine.” Castiel counters with a grin, proud at his own cleverness, but Dean still looks worried, and he wants to know why. “Why are you upset?”

“Well,” Dean looks down, stares at Castiel’s chest, how taut it is, admires the smooth planes, he knows first hand how wonderful Castiel feels, how firm and warm, how strong and stable, but feels all the worse for it, “your reputation, for one thing.”

“What about my-“

“What will people think?”

“I don't give a damn-“

“Cas,” Dean cuts him off, he's not good at this, explaining what he thinks, what he believes, but he’ll keep trying, at least until Castiel understands, “you can't be seen doing stuff like that with someone like me.” 

“Dean, what on earth makes you think-“

“Cas, you're someone important, okay. Your brother is the Mayor. I mean, people will see those pictures and think,” Dean shakes his head, because it's so obvious, it's laughable, “man, they're gonna think you've gone slumming.”

Castiel growls, an actual rumbly, rumble that springs forth from deep within his chest: he has never been so angry. 

“Dean, I don't think I've ever been this angry. Ever.” He takes a giant step back, he needs space, air, his lungs feel empty, like he's suffocating; Dean’s words, like his kisses, have sucked all of the oxygen from them. “How dare you think so little of me.” He says, body clenched from his jaw down to his fists. “How dare you think so little of our…” Castiel takes a deep breath, exhales, “relationship. It's insulting.” 

He takes another step back, edging closer to the door, feels for the knob and turns it. “I need to get to work. I'll…I’ll see you later.” And without looking at Dean, he leaves.

Dean collapses onto the nearest bench the second the door clicks shut. He wants to scream, to beat his fists into the wall, Castiel hasn't been here an hour, but somehow Dean managed to fuck everything up. “Fuck.” He says, exhausted with himself. He should have stayed quiet, kept his own stupid thoughts to himself. 

“Fuck.” He says again, dropping his head into hands and shuddering, he doesn't know if he can survive this. “I'm so sorry, Cas.” Dean rubs at his eyes, wipes errant tears away, he doesn't want to cry, but his eyes won't stop watering. “So sorry.” He says again to the empty room.

“You should be.”

Dean jumps, startled, he tumbles off the bench. “Cas?” He can't believe Castiel came back, but his joy overrides his grief, and Dean runs to him. "I'm sorry.” 

Dean kisses his apology onto Castiel’s skin, and they embrace, both needing to touch the other, to grant and to receive forgiveness. 

“Cas.” Dean mouths the word against Castiel’s neck, afraid to say anything else. Yet there are so many things he wishes he could voice – conflicting thoughts, arguments – but in the end, he decides it's best to keep his fears to himself.

Yet despite Dean’s feigned outer calmness, Castiel tenses in his arms the second he senses the shift in Dean’s mood. He pulls away, slowly, states, “You're the most infuriating person I know.” He keeps Dean at arms length, can tell he's just put up a wall and Castiel intends to knock it down. “You're also the best person I know.”

But Dean just drops his eyes, shame coloring his cheeks.

“Dean, what can I do?” Castiel asks. “Tell me what to say,” he begs, “that will make you believe how I feel about you? How I feel about our relationship?” 

Dean cringes and Castiel takes a deep breath, this approach won't do. Castiel blinks back tears, now is not the time to fall apart. 

Now is the time to fight. 

So he takes Dean by the hand, guides him back to the bench, and they both take a seat. 

“Dean,” he starts, voice steady, tone stern, he's not going to attack Dean, or coddle him, what he's going to say is deadly serious; Castiel is going to fight for their future, their relationship, and their love. There's no room for error. 

“I want to apologize for leaving the way I did. It was selfish of me, and I'm sorry.”

Dean starts to shake his head but Castiel stops him. “Please let me finish, Dean.” 

He gives Dean a few seconds to settle, takes both of his hand in his, and resumes. “I’m sorry about the way I reacted. You were upset and instead of listening to you, I left.”

“S’okay, Cas-“

“No, it's not. What I did is inexcusable. I allowed intimate pictures of you to be but on display without your permission, and that was wrong. Your reaction was well deserved. I'm ashamed of myself, Dean. I violated your trust, and for that too, I apologize.”

Castiel takes a breath, feels Dean’s anxiety ebb, but not his discomfort. But Dean’s going to feel even more uncomfortable with what he says next.

“Dean, I'm not very good at this. Explaining myself. But I want to try.” Castiel looks down, it's the first time he's broken eye contact, but he's embarrassed and needs a moment to gather his words. 

“I wanted those pictures to be seen. By everyone.” He's so pathetic, now Dean knows just how jealous, petty, and insecure, he is. Now Dean will know that he's not the only one with doubts. “I'm honored and thrilled to be seen in those pictures with you. I want everyone to know that you have chosen…me.”

Dean’s jaw drops, again. Castiel keeps surprising him, but maybe Castiel just said that out of pity, made that claim just so Dean would stop acting like such a blubbering little bitch-

“Stop it, Dean. Just stop!”

Dean blinks, wonders if he said any of that out loud. “Cas-“

“No, Dean. Listen to what I'm telling you. Not what you think I mean. Don't put words into my mouth, or try to read my mind. I won't stand for it. Okay.”

Dean nods, clenches his jaw, but he squeezes Castiel’s hand, and after a beat, Castiel starts again. “It frustrates me,” he says, sighing heavily, “that you don't believe me. That you don't trust me, or yourself.” 

“Cas, I'm trying, man. I really am.”

Another deep sigh, another deep breath, “I know Dean. But I want you to know-“ Castiel pauses, shakes his head, “no,” he corrects, cups Dean’s cheek, and gazes intently into his eyes, “I want you to believe me when I say that I wanted everyone to know that we're together. I was showing off, Dean. I’m greedy, I want you all to myself. I wanted to make it loud and clear that you're my boyfriend. That you're my lover. That you're mine.”

“Cas, I'm the one-“

But Castiel plows ahead, speaks over Dean and with three little words, knocks down every single one of Dean’s barriers. “Dean, I love you.”

Dean’s breath catches, could this be real? Does Castiel really mean it this time. Sure, Castiel has said that to him before, especially when they're having sex, so it doesn't really count. But they're not having sex now. So, maybe…

“Dean, this is no fevered declaration. I'm not delirious, or high. You're the most important person in my life. You're an inspiration to me, and I'm humbled in your company.” Castiel leans in, searches Dean’s eyes, sees understanding, need, and hope. 

So much hope. 

He kisses Dean, says softly against his mouth, “Your mother would have been very proud of the man you've become.” Another kiss, another sigh, “I'm proud of the man you've become.”

Dean’s speechless, he’s always wondered if his mother would have approved of the choices he's made. He's ashamed of many of them, but he's also worked damn hard to improve himself these past few years, always with her approval in the back of his mind. 

And he never suspected Castiel felt the same way he does, afraid, unsure; it never even crossed his mind. So it's only natural that he'd want to reassure Castiel back, tell him that he feels the exact same exact way and wants the exact same things. 

_But talking’s overrated._

So Dean grabs Castiel by the back of the neck and kisses the words ‘I love you, too’, over and over, across every bit of skin he can reach. Dean peppers kisses against Castiel's lips, across his brow, along the sharp edge of his jaw, and long after their coworkers’ catcalls, force them to stop.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yes, living together suits them well – each man blooming in the other’s company. And since they always seem to gravitate towards the other, whether in public or private, moving in was a smart choice, and the transition, eerily smooth. Now, and most nights, Dean falls asleep to the sound of crashing waves just outside their bedroom window, and wakes to Castiel’s exquisite mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally done! I have hurricane Irma breathing down my neck and I'm finally done!
> 
> Thanks for the kudos and the comments! I sincerely hope you enjoyed reading this, as much as I enjoyed writing it!!

One year later:

“Cas!” Dean thrashes in bed, sheets, a heap on the floor. “Cas…please.”

It's 3am, but it's not nightmares that have Dean screaming awake in the middle of the night; it's wet heat surrounding his dick, and enthusiastic sucking.

“Please, baby…yeah, just like that.”

Tonight is a celebration, of sorts. It started with dinner with the whole family, everyone drinking and toasting to Dean’s new job as one of Santa Monica’s elite ‘Ocean Rescue Squad’, team members, and ending with Dean and Castiel sneaking off to the men's room for sloppy kisses and frantic groping.

"Oh my god! Yeah…just like that.”

That he owes his good fortune to Castiel, is no understatement; thanks to weekly drills custom tailored to strengthen Dean’s weakest points, Dean easily beat out the other candidates, and was awarded the only available post on the squad.

“Baby…fuck, slow down.”

But two orgasms later, and Dean begins to wonder if this is his reward for passing his final exams with flying colors, or punishment for denying Castiel sex until he'd completed his physical training - the longest forty eight hours, of Castiel’s life. 

“Umphft…god…your mouth.

Castiel swallows around Dean’s length, and Dean cums, dick pulsing in time with the rapid beat of his heart. He's out of breath, a sweaty, exhausted, mess, fused to the mattress. “Love-“ he wheezes, gasping for air, “…you.”

It's what he says everyday, before, during, and after sex, while carpooling, or running errands, no matter the circumstance, or how utterly wasted Castiel leaves him, Dean always wants him to know how he feels.

They’ve been dating for almost a year, living together for three months – Dean finally moved in after Bobby asked him one night, if he was planning on spending it with him and Sam, or going back home. That's when it hit Dean, that's when he knew where he belonged, and with whom. And he hasn't gone a single day since then, without telling or showing Castiel, the depth of his emotions. 

Yes, living together suits them well – each man blooming in the other’s company. And since they always seem to gravitate towards the other, whether in public or private, moving in was a smart choice, and the transition, eerily smooth. Now, and most nights, Dean falls asleep to the sound of crashing waves just outside their bedroom window, and wakes to Castiel’s exquisite mouth. 

That's not to say they didn't fuck every chance they got before living together. But since officially moving-in, Castiel has been especially insatiable.

“Cas-“ Dean runs shaky fingers through Castiel sex-tousled strands, moans, “Mmm, s’good, baby…”

Castiel agrees with a bob of his head and by slurping up every last drop. But then he pulls off, sits up, and says, “Turn over.” The familiar command, a wreaked croak that Dean obeys without question.

“Hands and knees.”

Dean does as he's told, gets on all fours, and presents his ass, spreading himself open with one hand, for Castiel’s inspection. 

Castiel’s throaty rumble tells him everything he needs to know; Castiel likes what he sees, and the evening is far from over. 

“Gorgeous.” 

Dean’s pretty sure Castiel murmured something flattering about his backside, opens his mouth to tell him to take a picture and frame it, but then there's a thumb pressing against his entrance, then a finger, and then they're both pushed inside, then they're pulled out, then back in, over and over, and Dean forgets to breathe.

“Oomph…argh…” He's grunting, hissing, but his body quickly adjusts and Dean rocks back, wanting more. 

And he gets it, tenfold. 

Without warning Castiel’s massive cock pushes in, and Dean cries out, it burns, but his hole is still loose enough from their earlier fucking, to feel any real pain.

Castiel throws his head back and groans with pleasure, a lengthy growl that reverberates all the way from his chest to the tip of his cock. He stills for a beat, gives them both a minute to adjust, all the while muttering curses, vows, thanking God, and making promises. 

And Dean gobbles it all up, every single word, Castiel’s devotion, the man’s all consuming passion, how he falls apart because of Dean, and the myriad of ways he declares his love. Dean grows hard again and marvels at Castiel’s stamina; even at twenty-five, Dean finds it difficult keeping up with the thirty-four year old. But he enjoys trying. 

A sharp slap to the ass brings Dean back to the moment. “Stay with me.” Warns Castiel, grabbing a handful of each ass-cheek and pulling them apart. 

“You're gorgeous.” He repeats, thick and guttural. He pulls out, pushes back in, then slowly eases out again. He could do this forever: fuck Dean non-stop, pound that sweet ass into oblivion. But if he doesn't stop staring at Dean’s hole – hypnotized by the way it opens up for him, how it stretches around his girth, how it swallows his cock – then he won't last much longer. 

“So…perfect.” There’s no way Castiel is going to look away.

So he readjust his stance, instead, brackets Dean’s hips with his knees, digs his fingers into the large muscles of Dean’s ass, and slams back in, rapid, successive thrusts, brutal and non-stop pounding. 

Castiel keeps this pace up for a minute, always pulling out completely before thrusting back in, never taking his eyes away from that sinful sight. “Umph…Dean-“ Castiel grunts, unable to hold out much longer, and cums in record time, cock throbbing, hips swiveling, he fills Dean and stays inside until he's completely empty. 

Dean’s wrecked, can't hold himself up any longer and collapses, arms and thighs like jelly. He's thoroughly spent, panting for air, then huffs a breathy laugh; Castiel is still inside of him. 

He wiggles his ass, says, “Babe-“ but only gets a slap in return – though not as sharp as the first time. 

“Stop moving.”

Dean presses his sweaty forehead to the mattress, turns his head, and rests his cheek there. Ass in the air, thighs spread apart, he doesn't need to see Castiel's face to know he’s devouring the sight of Dean’s hole with lust-darkened, eyes. “Babe, I gotta get up early. Remember?”

Castiel replies by slowly easing out, wants to make sure Dean’s cum filled hole, stays that way. But a little still oozes out, a thick, white, trail that lovingly coats Dean’s crevice. 

“Cas?”

Castiel traces his semen’s path with two fingers, scoops it up, then forces it back in, fingers pulsing in and out until his cum is back where it belongs. He's still impressively hard, so he lines himself up, and pushes back in, a quick thrust that plugs Dean’s hole up, nicely.

“Jeezus!” Though expected, Dean grunts from the impact. “Come on, Cas, I'm gonna be useless tomorrow!”

“Don't worry,” Castiel replies, picking up the rhythm, “I'll make sure you have an easy...first day.”

Dean grunts again, tries to protest, but who's he kidding, he loves the lingering ache of being ‘well-fucked’. “You, argh... promise I, oomph... won't get in trouble, umph...with my, my new boss?” Dean’s thighs are beginning to cramp, he'd be flat on his stomach if it weren't for Castiel’s firm hold on his hips. “B-baby?”

Castiel is too blissed out to reply, but nevertheless takes mercy on Dean and ceases his brutal pounding. 

Dean catches his breath, he'll be unable to walk comfortably for a week, but he'll take what he can get. “Baby, I swear, there's gonna be nothing left of me.” 

Castiel hums, finally satisfied, spreads Dean’s ass-cheeks and slips out. He collapses beside Dean, an ungainly, inelegant, mass of limbs, drags his hand down Dean’s back, arcs his neck to kiss Dean’s shoulder, but Dean turns over and swats him away. 

“If I get written up my first day because you had to get your rocks off three times, Cas, three times! I'll-“

Castiel has the audacity to smirk at Dean, smug, but sexy-as-hell. “You'll what, my love?” he asks, low and seductive, plush lower lip caught between perfect white teeth. “Well?”

“Stop that! I mean it, Cas! Stop!”

“Stop what?” Castiel replies, all faux innocence, he knows exactly what Dean means, knows how easily Dean bends to his will when he amps up his charm.

“Stop it with the ‘sexy’ voice and those freaky ‘hungry’ eyes. That's what!”

Dean scoots as far away as he can from Castiel without falling off the bed, grabs his pillow as a shield, and motions with his hand. “And stop it with those...grabby hands!” 

Castiel takes Dean’s pillow – Dean doesn't even put up a fight – and tosses it over his shoulder. 

“Hey, I need-“

“You can use me.”

Dean huffs and gives up. He sees exactly where this is going; straight to round four. It's nearly impossible (a Herculean feat) to resist Castiel when he wants to fuck. 

“Fine!” Dean says, trying his best to sound ‘put upon’, but with his own traitorous dick hardening again, he's hardly convincing. “Just…just keep Chief Crowley off my ass tomorrow. Got it?”

Castiel smiles, eyes dancing when Dean reaches for more lube. “I assure you Dean,” he says, maneuvering Dean onto his back, “you're Chief will be very forgiving.” He grabs Dean’s legs, hoists them onto his shoulders, and and lines himself back up. “Although,” he adds, tone cryptic, the head of his cock nudging at Dean’s abused hole, “I can't guarantee he won't be on your ass, at least once, before lunch tomorrow.” Then slides right back in. 

…

Several heads turn at the sound of the rapidly approaching rumble, all jumping out of the way to avoid getting hit by flying pebbles when the Impala tears onto the parking lot.

Dean can't believe he overslept. Well, yeah, of course he can, after going five rounds with Castiel last night, it's a miracle he can function at all.

“Damn it!” He curses, slamming the dashboard, upset with Castiel. They were going to commute in together, but when Dean woke up, Castiel was nowhere in sight. 

Castiel knows how important today is to Dean, how long he's dreamed of this moment, how hard he's worked to get here. How it's everything he's ever wanted. 

_That's it, no sex for a week!_

“N’ah, that won't work.” Dean rethinks that strategy and immediately abandons it, it's what got him into this mess in the first place. 

He pulls into his spot – it's one if the perks of being on the O.R.S., his sweet baby gets her own assigned parking space – and hops out if his car. Dean’s jogging towards Crowley’s office, when he spots Castiel. 

He's standing outside of Crowley’s office, tall and tan, casually leaning against the front office’s rail, with his long legs crossed at the ankles, and his arms braced against the handrail. Dean stops to admire the view, he still can't believe that gorgeous creature is his boyfriend. 

“Cas!”

Castiel looks up and smiles, bright blue eyes sparkling in the morning sunlight. He nods to Dean, says, “Good morning, Dean.” And Dean forgets to be angry with him. 

Dean wags a finger in his direction, steps right up to him, whisper-hisses, “I’ll deal with you later.” Then drops a quick kiss to his stubbled cheek. 

Dean bounds up the steps, knocks on the door but there's no immediate answer, so he knocks again, louder. He straightens his uniform while he waits, checks that his fly isn't open, that his collar is laying correctly, but when another minute passes without a reply, he tries the door, finds its locked, and turns back to Castiel.

“You couldn't tell me Crowley wasn't even here?”

Castiel pushes off the post, saunters right up to his pissed-off boyfriend, answers, “That's because this isn't Crowley’s office.”

“The hell you talking about?” Dean looks back at the door and reads the nameplate.

CHIEF MASTER MILTON

“But-“ Then he takes a step back, checks the number above the door, fishes a business card (gifted to him yesterday by Castiel) from his pocket, reads it, and looks up again. Then he spots it, a second, smaller, nameplate, positioned right under Castiel’s.

DEAN WINCHESTER, O.R. 

“Cas, what the hell’s going on?”

Castiel pulls out a set of keys, pulls one from the key-ring, takes Dean’s hand, places it over his open palm, and says, “This one is yours.” Then covers the precious gift with his own hand.

Dean’s speechless, feet frozen, eyes locked with Castiel’s. 

“Here, let me.” Castiel leans past Dean and unlocks the door. “After you.” He says, and with an uncharacteristic flourish of his hand (something he definitely picked up from Gabriel) motions for Dean to go in first.

Dean walks in slowly, cautiously, like maybe Crowley is waiting inside, crouched in some dark corner, ready to pounce on him, to torture and torment him for being late. Or worse yet, fire him.

But the only thing he finds waiting for him is a steaming pot of coffee and a large unopened box of pastries. 

Dean doesn't waste a second. He hauls Castiel inside, grabs him by the shirt collar, and kisses him. “How long-“ he pants, winded, kissing Castiel always steals every bit of oxygen from his lungs. “How long have you known?”

“That Crowley stepped down from his post? Or that the board of directors elected me to replace him?”

It's incredible news, an amazing feat; Castiel is the youngest Master Chief in O.R. history. Dean’s overwhelmed with pride, and kisses him again. “Baby! That's so great!” Another kiss. “Why didn't you say something?” Kiss, kiss, kiss. “We should celebrate! Throw a big party-“

But Castiel’s not done with Dean’s lips yet, and quiets him with another kiss, wraps his arms around his neck and deepens it. 

Dean gladly follows Castiel’s lead, and embraces him, wraps his arms around the new Master Chief’s waist, and grinds against him. 

Castiel moans into Dean’s mouth, and Dean breaks the kiss, smiling when Castiel chases after him for more. “Kinda not the place, sweetheart.”

Castiel pouts, shrugs, huffs, “I suppose your right. But sharing an office with you is part of the perks of being the boss.” He drags his hands from Dean’s broad shoulders down to his ass, says, “Not to mention the fact that we have windows with blinds, a door with a lock-“ 

“Hey, why’s the door locked?” 

Castiel groans, Dean laughs, teases, “What was that you we're saying about ‘doors with locks’?” Then smacks Castiel on the ass on his way to unlock the door. 

It's Gabriel; the man has impeccable timing. He strolls in, looks both men over, smirks, then plops down on the couch.

“Gabriel, what are you doing here?”

Gabriel unwraps a piece of candy and pops it into his mouth before replying.  
“My day off.”

Castiel glowers at him, but in the end, realizes his brother’s untimely interruption was for the best. He and Dean can christian their new office, later, after hours. 

Castiel will wait until the beach closes, until all the staff leaves, then he’ll lock the door, bend Dean over his desk, and fuck him until dawn. 

“Cas?” 

Then he’ll flip Dean over, lay him on his back, spread him open and eat him out, spear his hole with his tongue, soothe his aches with his lips, suck on his balls…

“Bro, you have some serious issues.”

…then suck him off, swallow him down, drink him up, clean him out, then retrace his path with a trail of kisses-

“Castiel!” Dean hollers Castiel’s name, and Castiel looks up, snaps out of his daydream. 

“Dean?” He says, notes that Dean is sitting at his own desk (it's directly across from Castiel’s) and takes his own seat.

Dean winks at him, warns, “Stay with me.” The jab, a repeat of Castiel’s earlier sex-fueled threat.

Castiel tilts his head and narrows his eye, returns Dean’s cheekiness with a smoldering look of his own. This isn't over.

“Guys, seriously?” Gabriel claps his hands and waves his arms to get their attention. “Come on! I'm right here, see?”

“Yes, Gabriel, we can hardly miss you.”

Gabriel snorts, “Humph, didn't look like that a second ago.”

Castiel closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose; all he wanted to do this this morning was surprise Dean, and maybe get a ‘thank you’ hand-job or an ‘I love you’ blow-job out of it, he's not picky. “Gabriel, why aren't you at home with your wife?” 

Gabriel shrinks into the cushions, shrugs, “She’s working. And anyway, can't I just want to come by and say, hi? I miss you guys, okay.”

Dean chuckles from his desk, he's looking over today’s schedule, says, “Dude, we saw you last night at dinner.”

Gabriel starts to protest, throws his arms up, then Castiel adds, “And we'll see you at lunch, if you like.”

Gabriel beams, points at his brother, “You better. Just because you're a big shot now, doesn't mean you can ignore me. Doesn't mean you can…forget me.”

Dean looks up, asks, “Gabe, how can you say that?” He gets up and walks to the couch, shoves Gabriel’s feet off, and sits next to him. “If it weren't for you-“ he looks over to Castiel, smiles, “Cas would never…he wouldn't have given me the time of day.” 

“Phfft, you two were gonna get together, with or without my help.”

“Not that first time.” Dean counters.

“Dean’s right.” Castiel gets up and joins them, pats his brother on the shoulder, meets his eyes, “I owe you so much.” He reaches behind Gabriel, stretches his arm across his back to reach Dean, and grasps his lover’s shoulder. “I owe you everything.” 

Gabriel’s cheeks turn pink, this got more serious than he intended. “Aw, Cassie, thanks. You too Dean-o. I love you guys, you're like my OTP.”

Castiel and Dean exchange a look, neither knows what Gabriel is talking about, but he's smiling, and right now that's all that matters.

“So, ah,” Gabriel says, eager to change the subject, “what's on the agenda for today?” He's hoping he gets invited on their patrol, he would love to spend the day out on the ocean.

“It's Dean’s first day, so after I introduce him to the rest of the staff, I'm giving him a tour of the facility-“

“What are you talking about? Dean already knows everybody here. Knows where everything is, too. Probably better than you.”

Castiel purses his lips, ignores Gabriel’s remarks, “Then I'd like to start Dean on maps. Oceanography. Show him how to read grids, how to dissect them, how to set coordinates-“

“Booooring!”

“Gabriel, stop interrupting.”

“But I wanna go out on the boat.”

Dean perks up, thinks that's a great idea. “Can we?”

Castiel exhales; this will not do. Procedures need to be followed. Meticulously. Especially when it comes to Dean’s safety. “Dean, you're not ready to-“

But Dean cuts him off, knows Castiel will want to stick to the rules. “Come on Cas, even Crowley was impressed with the way I handled the boat. Said I steered her like she was an extension of myself.”

"I don't care what Crowley said.” Hackles up, Castiel stands, he doesn't want to argue, but if he has to, he's not doing it sitting down, “I'm Master now, and I don't want you-

Dean gets on his feet, too, there's no way he's backing down on this. “But he was, when I was taking the damn test.” Dean drops his eyes, lowers his voice, says, “I know you hate the guy, but he knew what he was doing.” He looks back up, and states, “Or maybe you just don't you have faith in me.”

Castiel deflates, of course he has faith in Dean, more in him, than anybody else. “I'm sorry, Dean. I was unfair and I apologize.”

Dean takes the peace offering, extends his hand and Castiel takes it. “Cas you saw my grades, read my marks…”

“I did.” Castiel says softly, eyes bright, shining with pride. “They were excellent. No one but Michael, has ever scored higher.”

Dean grins, “Except you.” He laces their fingers together and reels Castiel in, smirks, “That's okay, I like dating a smarter guy.”

Castiel goes willingly, wraps his free arm around Dean’s waist, and pats his ass. “Not smarter.” He rebuts, “But perhaps, more experienced.” 

“Oooh, really?” Dean wets his lips, “Baby, that's even hotter.” 

“Ah, guys,” Gabriel speaks up, waves his hands in front of their faces, “I'm literally standing right in front of you.”

Dean and Castiel laugh, reluctantly let go of each other, then walk back to their respective desks.

They all take a seat, Dean and Castiel get right to work, Gabriel pulls out his cell phone, but it's not long before he's back on his feet. 

“I'm bored.” He whines, but neither Dean or Castiel react. So he starts pacing the room, huffing and puffing, back and forth, griping under his breath, begging for attention. “Oh, I know!” He snaps his fingers, bounces in place. “How about you teach Dean all about that map stuff on the boat? I'll steer.” 

Well this certainly gets Dean’s attention. He looks over at Castiel, hopeful, expectant, catches his eye, but can't read his expression. 

Castiel’s features give nothing away, but after a lengthy silence, he gives in. “Well,” he says, grabbing a large set of keys and a small, black, velvet, pouch from his desk drawer, “I was planning on taking Dean out later in the week.” 

As a matter of fact, Castiel has been planning on taking Dean out on the boat, for weeks now, to celebrate the end of his first week on the job, as well to celebrate the one year anniversary of their very first meeting. 

“But, I suppose,” he shrugs, “we can go now.” Castiel pockets the keys, quickly hiding the large, silver, emblem, dangling on the key ring, from Dean’s view. “Ready to go, Dean?”

Dean practically shoots up, he's so excited. “Yes, sir.” He says, then scans his desk to make sure he's got everything he needs, and heads to the door. 

“Woo-hoo! Boat boat trip, boat trip, boat trip-“

“Not you.”

“Awww!”

Castiel steps in front of his brother, narrows his eyes at him, pivots his head, tries to wordlessly communicate how important it is that he and Dean be alone. “Perhaps tomorrow, Gabriel.” 

Gabriel can't possibly join them this time, because what Castiel is planning requires privacy, there can be no distractions, he wants Dean’s full attention. 

“But I work tomorrow!” 

“Then on your next day off!” Castiel makes his way to the door, stops when he sees the look on Dean’s face. 

“Dean, is everything, okay?” 

Dean turns to face Castiel, head hanging in shame, replies, “Cas, I feel like I twisted your arm. Like I took advantage.” He drops his head onto Castiel’s shoulder, “Sorry. You're Master now. My Master.” Dean places a kiss on Castiel’s jaw, rubs his nose against the grain, and whispers, “I'll never question your orders again. We don't have to go.”

“No,” Castiel snaps, he doesn't mean to sound so…desperate, but he's worked himself up, and there's no turning back, now, “we’re definitely going.” He turns his head so Dean’s next kiss falls on his lips, says, “Okay.” And that, settles that.

Dean searches Castiel’s eyes, sees unyielding determination staring back, and nods, “Yeah. Okay.” 

“Good.” Castiel reaches around Dean and opens the door. 

“But first,” he says, “we’ll need to check in with the main office, see the latest weather reports, make a quick stop for some supplies, and then sign ourselves out.”

They both still have jobs to do, and need to accomplish several duties before they can leave for the day. As it is, they probably won't make it over to the marina until late in the afternoon. But once they complete the most essential tasks, they'll head off to the docks where Castiel will guide Dean to their own boat, instead of the O.R. schooner. 

Castiel has been looking forward to this day for almost an entire year. He can't wait to deposit the boat’s keys onto Dean’s hand and see his reaction.

From there, he’ll give Dean the coordinates to a remote spot that's dear to his heart; a secluded cove, treasured because he discovered it years ago with Michael. Castiel hasn't visited there since losing his brother, couldn't bear the memories attached to the place. But with Dean, he can build new memories, ones that will honor his and Michael’s discovery with joy, instead of grief. 

“Shall we?” Castiel ushers Dean out and closes the door. 

“Hey, not cool!” Hollers Gabriel. “It was my idea, after all.” He kicks the door, pouts, but with no other choice available to him, heads back home.

...

Gabriel wasn't exaggerating when he said Dean knew everyone on the O.R. 

The second he and Castiel step outside, Dean is immediately bombarded with greetings, good wishes, invitations to join other patrols, and because he's with Castiel, all-knowing smiles. 

“Hey Dean, how's your first day treating you?” It's a question asked by most. “I had a great time at the restaurant, last night.” Some remarked, while others just want to go out again. “Dude, we gotta get together again sometime. For beers or whatever.” But those requests were delivered with great respect and caution. Every single person there knows Dean and Castiel are a couple – they have all seen the photos – and none would dare cross, Castiel. 

“You're very popular.” Notes the new Chief.

Dean shrugs, “I'm a big deal because I'm dating the the boss.” 

“You are a big deal,” stresses Castiel, “no matter whom you date. But I am glad they all know that you're mine.”

Dean opens his mouth to protest; he belongs to no one, he's his own damn person, and can do what he pleases. But there's no denying the warm flood of emotions brought on by Castiel’s cool confidence and fierce possessiveness. So he bites back a retort, and instead says, “Cocky much, Cas?”

Castiel cocks his brow, smirks, smug and self-assured, and Dean melts. “No. But I know you.”

Yeah, Dean is so utterly owned.

.... 

“Cas, you’re going the wrong way.”

With most of their essential tasks finally completed, Dean and Castiel clock-out. And even though Dean whined and complained that he was tired and hungry, that he just wanted to go home, eat, and cuddle, Castiel still lead them to the boat docks.

“I know I'm the one that wanted to go out on the boat, but that was this morning.” Dean trudges behind Castiel, purposefully dragging his feet in the hopes that his boyfriend, not his boss, will take pity on him. “I'm beat, Cas. Come on, let's-“

Dean stops short, both verbally and physically. “Cas?”

Castiel stops with his back to Dean, proudly facing the lovely, fifty foot, all black beauty with white trim, docked right in front of them. 

_Mary’s Spirit._

“Cas?”

Castiel turns and faces Dean, he smiles, but it's cautious, he hopes he didn't overstep. “Happy Anniversary, Dean.” He says, taking a deep breath. “I bought her for you…for us.. I…I hope you like-“

But Dean cuts him off, wraps Castiel in a crushing embrace, and whispers, “I wish mom could have met you.” Dean kisses Castiel on the lips, cheek, jaw, exhales, “She would have loved you.” Then kisses Castiel again, deeper, with his whole heart and soul. 

Castiel had hoped Dean would like his gift. But this reaction? Castiel couldn't have hoped for more.

“I wish so too, Dean.” Castiel buries his face in Dean’s neck, sighs, “So much, beloved. So much.”

"Hey, get a room!” Someone hollers, and they break apart.

It’s a coworker, and they all share a laugh. “Aren't you supposed to be on duty?” Dean asks, too happy to be annoyed with the interruption.

“On my way to punch-in.” Their coworker replies, but stops a few feet from where they're standing. “She's a real beauty.” He whistles, “Congrats on her, Dean. She's gorgeous.” Then he salutes Castiel, “ Master-Chief.” And heads off. 

“Did everyone know about her?” Dean asks, eyes lovingly tracing every inch of Mary’s glossy, black, skin.

Castiel hums, nods, he can't stop smiling. “Well, truth be told, when word spread that I was shopping around for gift,” he takes Dean by the chin, turns his head until they're once again, looking into each other’s eyes, “everyone offered to help. You're extremely well liked, Dean.”

Dean smiles back, blushes, eyes bright, he doesn't argue, he feels too good right now. 

“But it was Sam’s suggestion, that made the most sense.”

“Sammy?”

“Yes. I hope you don't mind, but he told me all about why you love the ocean so much. It's because you feel closer to your mother whenever you were out there.” Castiel’s eyes practically glow with pride, glassy with emotion. “He told me how you worked several jobs to save enough money to some day buy your own boat. But in the end, how you put it all towards his college fund.”

Dean’s going to kill Sam.

Castiel chuckles, “And I thought my esteem for you couldn't possibly get any higher.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Babe, it was no big deal. Of course I was gonna help Sam before getting a toy like that. Anybody would do the same.”

Castiel replies by smiling even wider, big and gummy, Dean’s favorite. 

Dean huffs, “Come on, you big sap.” Castiel is being irresistibly adorable, so Dean kisses the end of his nose, then nudges him towards the gate, “I'm dying to get on board.”

…

Castiel gives Dean all the time he needs to admire his new boat, following closely behind while he checks her out, from aft to stern.

“Jesus, Cas, check out that engine!”

Castiel leaves Dean for a short while to make preparations, store their supplies, check the coordinates, and refresh their bed.

“Whoa,” Dean walks into their sleeping area, steps behind his boyfriend, and winds his arms around Castiel’s waist. “Cant wait to test out the sturdiness of that mattress.”

Castiel turns in Dean’s arms, and God yes, he would love to throw Dean on the bed right now, christen their bedroom, then the deck, make love everywhere on their boat. 

Dean’s eyes darken, and his pants tighten. He starts undoing his belt, but Castiel takes his hand, and deposits a set of keys onto his palm.

“Let's pull out of port, first.” Suggests Castiel. He wants to fuck Dean, of course he does, but he's eager to get to their destination, drop anchor, pop the bottle of champagne he has chilling, and see Dean’s reaction. See if Dean likes his special place as much as Castiel does.

Dean grins, agrees, “Yeah, good idea. Um, can I steer her?”

Castiel kisses Dean on the cheek, whispers, “I wouldn't have it any other way.”

Castiel wants Dean to be the first to test their boat out, feel what she can do, take her out into the open sea, and steer her to Castiel’s pre-set coordinates. Castiel will be by Dean’s side the entire time, there are still a few preparations to finalize, but those can wait until dawn. 

For now, they'll enjoy the ride out to their spot, and once there, Castiel will prepare dinner, they'll drink champagne, and then they'll make love. 

Castiel doesn't think he'll be able to sleep, not with what he has planned. But he's pretty sure Dean, will. But no matter what, right before dawn, Castiel will coax a groggy Dean up to the deck where they can watch the sunrise, just like they did on their very first meeting, one year ago.

But this time, instead of going their separate ways, instead of fighting and misunderstanding each other, instead of letting others (including themselves) come between their destiny, Castiel will drop to one knee, tell Dean how much he loves him, and ask him to marry him. 

No, there's no way Castiel will be able to sleep tonight. But that might not be so bad, maybe he can convince Dean to keep him company.


End file.
